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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27022891">A Pinch of Salt</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNameIsBritney/pseuds/TheNameIsBritney'>TheNameIsBritney</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Glee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Chef Blaine Anderson, Fluff and Angst, Food Critic Kurt Hummel, Hook-Up, M/M, lies of omission are involved, mixed POVs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:29:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>56,287</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27022891</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNameIsBritney/pseuds/TheNameIsBritney</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine Anderson is the head chef for an up and coming restaurant, managed by former Broadway failure Rachel Berry. Kurt Hummel is an anonymous food critic whose reviews walk the line between detailed to perfection, and downright cruel (according to his victims). They meet one night in a flurry of passion and heat.</p><p>But what Blaine doesn’t know is that Kurt is the critic who gave his restaurant an ego-crushing review not one week before they met.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>192</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>204</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Pasta al Limone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Welcome everyone!!! This fic and idea is very near and dear to me - I came up with the concept for it and started writing it not long after I finished uploading Is There a Twelve Step Just For You and it's been a long time coming! This fic means a lot to me and if you're reading this, I wanna say thank you for giving it a chance!</p><p>this fic is complete and i plan on uploading new chapters every other day!!</p><p>special thanks to Nery, my wonderful, patient, incredibly encouraging beta, Aly, my three years older, mixed race twin (ILYSM), and EJ for your encouragement when this fic was little more than just an idea and a single sentence!!! also: kurt and blaine on the cover art were drawn by @dee_who on both tumblr and instagram so if ur so inclined, go check out their page! the editing and text was done by me hehe</p><p>also: i hope y'all enjoy the little chapter recipes i put at the end of each chapter! comments and kudos are much appreciated!! </p><p>- Brit</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<hr/><p><b><em>What Happens When Broadway Babies Fail - **</em> </b> <b> <em><br/>
</em> </b> <b> <em>Stella d’Oro</em> </b> <em> | Italian-Fusion | $$$ | 492 Hudson Street | 212-444-0291 </em> <em><br/>
</em> <b> <em>By Pavarotti, New York Times</em> </b> <b> <em><br/>
</em> </b> <b> <em>18th March 2025.</em> </b></p><p>
  <em> The year was 2015. ‘Babs! The Barbra Streisand Musical’ had just opened at the Lunt-Fontanne on Broadway, starring Rachel Berry in the title role as Barbra Streisand. The buzz around the show was unmistakable. Unfortunately for the entire cast, Babs closed after just 32 performances, leaving hundreds wondering… what happened to Rachel Berry? Well folks, we have finally gotten an answer.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> After the crash and burn of Babs, Berry ventured into restauranteering with her Italian-Fusion restaurant Stella d’Oro on Hudson. The restaurant boasts a sizeable menu and wine list that at first glance, leaves customers and critics alike intrigued, wondering just what a ‘truffle and duck egg tiramisu’ tastes like. Well, let me be one of the first to tell you.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The atmosphere is passable, only offset by the restaurant’s enthusiastic -- and at times overbearing -- manager, Berry herself, whose constant hustle and bustle around the restaurant is enough to induce vertigo. The decor is fancy, reeking of pretension and forced minimalism. But that is not why you clicked on this article.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The food. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The restaurant’s head chef, Blaine Anderson (of Anderson and Son’s Realty fame) got his start in the fine dining circuit with his short stint at Hearth on Lexington Street, where he played the dutiful sous chef to Quinn Fabray’s chef de cuisine. But only three months after his initial hiring, Berry poached him from Hearth to star as the head chef at Stella d’Oro, where he has remained ever since. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> In his past endeavors, Anderson has managed to impress critics and customers alike with his cooking; however, while he certainly possesses skill and finesse, his cooking lacks passion and personality. Many say good chefs leave their marks on their food and unfortunately, the food at Stella d’Oro is unremarkable. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The aforementioned truffle and duck egg tiramisu was surprising and confusing. I was left unsure whether this was supposed to be an appetizer, an entree, or a strange dessert. My questions were not answered by the mascarpone cream that reeked of white truffle oil and the overpowering taste of egg yolk that coated the palate like a thick layer of yellow paint on the walls of a rented apartment. The overall experience of eating this dish was not unpleasant; all the components of the dish worked together harmoniously, but I found myself forgetting the melody as soon as the dish was cleared by the overly eager servers.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I also ordered the soft shell crab with white wine cream sauce, served on a bed of freshly made pappardelle. The sauce was strangely thick and the aftertaste of cornstarch stuck with me until the very end of the meal. The choice of soft shell crab was… bizarre, to say the least. The crunch of the shell is usually something that is enjoyed when done right, but in this pasta dish, this sensation is not welcome. I constantly worried for my fillings whilst eating, wondering if I was chipping a tooth as I tried to distinguish crab meat from pasta.   </em>
</p><p>
  <em> If you’re looking to order this to satisfy your shellfish craving, you would be better off going to your local bottom-shelf crab shack or, God forbid, Red Lobster. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Dessert was a delightful turnaround from the disconcerting dinner. As I’m writing this, I find the ghost of chef Anderson’s matcha affogato still dancing on my tongue. The macadamia and white chocolate flavoured ice cream was sweet and light, complimenting the slightly bitter taste of the matcha sauce it was served with. It was definitely my favourite part of the entire experience. However, one exceptional dessert does not make a fabulous dining experience, unfortunately.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I was left disappointed and unmoved by the food and ambience at Stella d’Oro. While the English translation of the restaurant’s name translates to ‘Gold Star’ in Italian, I would have to say it does not live up to it. As for Ms. Rachel Berry, I would say stick to your day job, but… it appears that did not work out quite so well for you either. </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>“Do you think my cooking lacks personality?” </p><p>Wes rolled his eyes as he walked into the kitchen, buttoning up his chef's jacket. “No, Blaine, I don’t think your cooking lacks personality.” He watched as Blaine pouted at his phone and sighed. “You’re reading the review, aren’t you?"</p><p>Blaine paused, looking at Wes sheepishly. “I wasn’t going to, I promise! But my brother sent it to me this morning and I couldn’t resist.” </p><p>“Your brother saw a two-star review for your restaurant and decided to send it to you anyway?” </p><p>“I don’t think he actually read it. He just saw that it was for <em> Stella </em> and sent it to me, captioned ‘this is your restaurant, right?’ with like four exclamation points.” </p><p>Wes chuckled. Somehow he could picture Cooper doing just that, completely genuinely. “Blaine, you’re a good chef. You <em> know </em> you’re a good chef. You shouldn’t let one bum review change how you think,” he said, smiling politely as the other staff began to file into the kitchen.</p><p>Blaine eyes tracked Rachel as she walked into the kitchen. Her face was bright red and her hands were clenched into tiny fists. “Looks like I wasn’t the only one who read the article.” </p><p>Rachel cleared her throat and a hush fell over the kitchen, everyone’s eyes dutifully turning toward her. “You’re probably all wondering why I scheduled this staff meeting today.” </p><p>“Not really. We always have staff meetings on Monday…” </p><p>Mason cut himself off when Rachel lifted a finger, a determined look in her eye. “I <em> scheduled </em> this staff meeting to talk about the review in the New York Times, written by some anonymous <em> plebeian </em> who doesn’t understand good food or good theatre.” Rachel paused, taking a moment to calm herself before she grinned at her staff. “Now, the reason why I called this meeting was to just say not to be discouraged! One bad review doesn’t mean anything! Sales are up and we’re doing great. We’re not going to change a thing.”</p><p>“We’re not going to change <em> anything </em> ?” Blaine asked. “I mean… shouldn’t we maybe take this review to heart? Whoever this <em> Pavarotti </em>guy is, it sounds like he knows what he’s talking about.”</p><p>Rachel clenched her jaw. “<em> No </em>, Blaine, we’re not going to take this review seriously because it’s nothing but misguided negativity.”</p><p>Blaine sighed. “But… some of the points he made were valid, maybe we should look int--”</p><p>Rachel lifted her finger and once again, the kitchen fell silent. “My word is final, okay? I’ll let you know if things change but as of right now, we haven’t had a single cancelled booking or customer complaint. Everyone understand?”</p><p>The rest of the staff mumbled their agreements and Rachel hurried out to prepare the front of house for the dinner rush. Blaine finally let himself roll his eyes as soon as the metal doors swung shut. He turned to face everyone and tried to smile encouragingly. </p><p>“I don’t know if you guys read the review but… don’t let that discourage you, okay? We’re a great team. We can only improve from here,” Blaine said, “if you need any help, you can always come to me or Wes if I’m not available.”</p><p>With that, everyone disbanded and returned to their stations, the sound of quiet chatter filling the room. Blaine sighed and walked over to the radio, turning it on just a tad louder than usual. He figured everyone could use the extra distraction. </p>
<hr/><p>“Hey, boss, um…” </p><p>Kurt looked up from his screen. “Yes, Marley?” </p><p>“Mr. Gilbert called and told me to tell you to pick up your phone,” Marley said meekly, “I-I didn’t wanna bother you, just in case you were… busy.” </p><p>Kurt rolled his eyes and checked his phone, chuckling quietly when he saw two missed calls from Elliott. He looked up and smiled at his assistant kindly. “Thanks. You can clock off for the day, I’m about to leave myself.”</p><p>As Marley retreated to her desk, Kurt called Elliott back, closing his laptop as the dial tone rang. </p><p>“Hey, chief, nice of you to finally return my calls,” Elliott said. Kurt could hear the smirk in his voice. </p><p>“Did you really have to harass my assistant? You know she gets nervous,” Kurt replied, swinging his bag over his shoulder. “I’m just leaving the office now, what’s up?”</p><p>“I read your newest review.” Kurt could hear the hustle and bustle of city life in the background as Elliott talked, “it was a little harsh.” </p><p>Kurt walked out of his office, smiling at Marley politely. “I’m a critic, Elliott, I’m not supposed to be nice. If a restaurant has flaws, it’s my obligation to point them out.” </p><p>Elliott hummed. “Have you seen a picture of the head chef, though? Total cutie. I saw a picture of him in an issue of GQ and he practically <em> screams </em>‘Old Hollywood’.” </p><p>Kurt sighed.</p><p>“Is there a reason why you called me, Elliott?” Kurt thought he could hear Elliott rolling his eyes through the phone. </p><p>“I have to have a reason to call my best friend?” Kurt paused. Elliott seemed to sense his incredulity. “Fine, yes. Micah and I were planning on going to <em> Levels </em>on 4th on Friday night to celebrate his birthday! We want you to come.” </p><p>Kurt groaned as he listened to Elliott. He’d forgotten his umbrella today, he thought idly as he looked up at the lightly drizzling sky. “I… I have work--” </p><p>“Tell me you’re not planning on staying at the office until 10pm on a Friday night, Kurt, I might cry.” </p><p>“--and besides,” Kurt interjected sharply, “I hate <em> Levels </em>. The guys there are pretty much always creepy and they water down the drinks. Not to mention the bathrooms…”</p><p>“But it’s where Micah and I met,” Elliott said, voice soft. “Can you stop being a critic for two seconds?”</p><p>Kurt stopped in his tracks, sighing as he felt guilt gently squeeze in his chest. “I… yeah, sorry, I know.” He ducked underneath the subway awning to escape the rain. “I’ll try to make it, okay?” </p><p>“That’s all I ask. I’ll call you tonight and we can talk about <em> The Bachelorette. </em>” Kurt hung up and dropped his phone back into his pocket.</p><p>
  <em> Could you stop being a critic for two seconds?  </em>
</p><p>Kurt tried not to let Elliott’s words bother him, but he still couldn’t control the way they twisted themself up in his brain and refused to go away.</p>
<hr/><p>Kurt opened the door to his apartment and sighed heavily, rolling his neck and feeling the satisfying ‘pop’ of his joints as he took his shoes off. All the exhaustion he normally didn’t allow himself to feel flooded his body, making his tired feet and shoulders ache. </p><p>He smiled to himself when he felt a furry mass curl around his ankles, nuzzling his calf gently. He bent down and gently picked up the small, black-and-white cat, scratching her head. “Evening, Diva.” </p><p>She meowed quietly in return, blinking at him before turning her head to look at her food bowl. Kurt laughed and put her down. </p><p>“I should’ve known. You’re only affectionate when you want something,” Kurt replied, walking to the kitchen and grabbing a can of wet cat food. </p><p>His apartment was quiet, save for Diva’s light purr as she circled him. Kurt sighed and dropped the food into Diva’s bowl, squatting beside her to watch as she devoured her dinner. After a few minutes, Diva looked up, some remnants of cat food stuck to her whiskers. She tilted her head at him, almost as if she were saying ‘<em> don’t you have anything better to do?’ </em> </p><p>Kurt huffed out a quiet, humourless laugh and stood up, looking around his apartment, which was beginning to feel just a bit too big for one person in that moment. It was lavish and nice, to be sure, something he’d dreamed about ever since he was a teenager, but on quiet, anticlimactic nights like this, Kurt wondered what it would be like to have someone to share his space with. </p><p>Someone to curl up with on the couch, someone to wake up beside, someone to smile at when Diva did something cute. Kurt sighed and flopped onto the couch, turning on the TV to fill the empty space. He grabbed his phone and stared at it for a second, nibbling on his thumbnail before clicking on Elliott’s contact and sending him a text. </p><p><b> <em>From Kurt Hummel, 5:43pm:</em> </b> <b> <em><br/>
</em> </b> <em> So...Friday night?  </em></p><p><b> <em>From Elliott Gilbert, 5:43pm:</em> </b> <b> <em><br/>
</em> </b> <em> YES!!! </em></p><p><b> <em>From Elliott Gilbert, 5:43pm:</em> </b> <b> <em><br/>
</em> </b> <em> We can get dinner and drinks before we go to the club  </em></p><p><b> <em>From Elliott Gilbert, 5:44pm:</em> </b> <b> <em><br/>
</em> </b> <em> Omg I’m so excited I haven’t seen you drunk since college </em></p><p>Kurt groaned, resting his head back against his couch, though he could feel excitement slowly making itself known in his head. </p><p><b> <em>From Kurt Hummel, 5:45pm:</em> </b> <b> <em><br/>
</em> </b> <em> Don’t make me regret this.  </em></p><p><b> <em>From Elliott Gilbert, 5:45pm:</em> </b> <b> <em><br/>
</em> </b> <em> :D </em></p>
<hr/><p>The last dishes were sent out and the last remaining customers paid their checks before slowly making their way out. As the night drew to a close, Blaine could feel his curls slowly begin to escape the gel cage he’d so carefully applied in the morning, a sign of a productive night. </p><p>Once the kitchen was wiped down, Blaine turned off the radio and turned to his staff, a kind but tired smile on his face. “Good job tonight, everyone. Go home and get some rest and food, okay? Don’t think I didn’t catch some of you skipping your dinner break.”</p><p>The staff quietly tittered amongst themselves before Mason stepped forward, his hands anxiously curled in a tea towel. “Actually, before we go, um… may I say something?” </p><p>Blaine raised his eyebrows. “Yes, Mason?” </p><p>Mason let out a breath before turning to Jane, who was standing beside him, taking her hand in one of his. “I thought it would be appropriate to do this here. Jane, one year ago, you and I met in this kitchen and ever since that day, you’ve changed my life. You’ve taught me things about the world that I never thought to consider.” Mason took a slight step back. Blaine thought he could see his hands shaking. </p><p>The kitchen was silent as Mason dropped to one knee, the sound of Jane’s gasps bouncing off the tiled walls and metal countertops.</p><p>“Oh, my god,” Jane said breathlessly. </p><p>“Jane Hayward.” Mason pulled a small, velvet box from his pants pocket. “Will you marry me?”</p><p>Blaine watched, mouth agape, as Jane excitedly said (screamed) ‘yes’ and jumped into Mason’s arms. He clapped politely along with the rest of the staff as Jane and Mason pulled apart to admire the ring. </p><p>“Did that actually just happen?” </p><p>Blaine hadn’t registered that Wes was next to him until he spoke. “I guess it did. <em> Wow </em>.” </p><p>Wes sighed. “I’m happy for them but… <em> damn </em>, do I feel old.”</p><p>Blaine snorted quietly, covering it up behind his hand. “Yeah, I know what you mean,” he mumbled, playfully hitting Wes’ shoulder before walking over to Jane and Mason. He smiled at the happy couple. </p><p>“Hey, congratulations, you guys!” Blaine said happily, “I’m so happy for you.”</p><p>Mason grinned, his arm wrapped firmly around Jane’s waist. “Thank you so much, chef, that means the world to us.”</p><p>Blaine chuckled. “Mason, you don’t have to keep calling me ‘chef’, we’ve known each other long enough.”</p><p>“Blaine, we actually have you to thank for this,” Jane said. Blaine could see her gently twisting her new engagement ring around her finger with her thumb. “Mason and I never would’ve met if you hadn’t hired him after Jeremy… um…” Jane cut herself off, clamping her lips shut.</p><p>Blaine’s smile grew tight around the edges. “Jane, it’s okay. It’s… fine. I’m glad that you both found each other. Love is a beautiful thing and I’m happy for you guys.” </p><p>Jane smiled, relieved. “Thanks again. We’ll see you tomorrow?”</p><p>Blaine nodded and watched as they left the kitchen, hand in hand, feeling a phantom ache in his chest that he thought he’d gotten rid of months ago.  He stared at the closed kitchen doors for a second too long before grabbing his things and meeting Wes at the back exit of the restaurant. </p><p>“I need a drink,” Wes said, pushing himself off the wall when he saw Blaine finally join him outside. “You down?”</p><p>Blaine shook his head, shrugging apologetically. “Sorry, man, I’m gonna head home. I have to feed Mercury, anyway.” Wes raised an incredulous eyebrow.</p><p>“Okay, sure. But you’re still gonna go clubbing with David and I on Friday, right?”</p><p>Blaine bit his lip. It had been a while since he’d actually gone out beyond going to work and taking Mercury for walks. Plus, the only thing in his calendar for Friday night was a reminder that his free trial for HBO Go was about to end. </p><p>“Sure, why not?” Blaine said, grinning when Wes bumped their shoulders together happily. He could afford to have fun once in a while.</p><p>When Blaine got home that night, he sighed heavily, finally letting himself feel the exhaustion that he’d been staving off throughout the day. He shuffled tiredly to his couch and flopped down onto it, sifting through the small bundle of unopened mail he’d collected while slowly rolling his shoulders back and grunting as his joints popped. </p><p>He heard the tell-tale sounds of claws scraping against the hardwood floors and a grin grew on his face. He looked up and saw Mercury slowly walking out of his room, looking about as sleepy as Blaine felt. Mercury barked half-heartedly before jumping up on the couch and settling beside Blaine. </p><p>“Hey, bud… tired?” Blaine asked quietly, scratching gently between the small dog’s ears. “Me, too.” Mercury didn’t reply but his eyes began to droop shut slowly. Blaine laughed and leaned back, putting down his mail and enjoying the way Mercury’s black, silky fur slipped between his fingers. It wasn’t until a gentle silence settled over his apartment that Blaine felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness. </p><p>He thought about Jane and Mason’s proposal, and how badly an ugly, <em> ugly </em> part of his brain began to creep its way forward. A part that wanted to ruin their moment, that wanted to tell them not to date anyone they work with because <em> it just ends up messily.  </em></p><p>But at the end of the day, Blaine was a hopeless romantic. He saw the smile that lit up Mason’s face when Jane said yes and couldn’t help but grin himself. He thought about the last time someone had made <em> him </em> feel that way. </p><p>As soon as the thought came to mind, Blaine tensed, sitting up and making Mercury lift his head curiously. He grit his teeth and sighed, rubbing his forehead. Now was absolutely not the time to be thinking about… the past. </p><p>Thankfully, almost as though his body <em> knew </em> he needed the distraction, Blaine’s stomach grumbled loudly, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since lunch. And so, as if the harrowing memory had never even crossed his mind in the first place, Blaine got up and walked to the kitchen, pulling out some bucatini, cheese, and lemons from various cupboards and shelves, and made himself a quiet dinner.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <a href="https://www.bonappetit.com/recipe/pasta-al-limone"> <em> <strong>Chapter Recipe: Pasta al Limone</strong> </em> </a>
</p>
<ul>
<li>1 lemon</li>
<li>12 oz. spaghetti or other long pasta</li>
<li>Kosher salt</li>
<li>¾ cup heavy cream</li>
<li>6 Tbsp. unsalted butter</li>
<li>3 oz. finely grated Parmesan (about ¾ cup)</li>
<li>Freshly ground black pepper</li>
</ul><p>Using a vegetable peeler, remove two 2"-long strips of lemon zest. Thinly slice each strip lengthwise into thin strands; set aside for serving. Finely grate remaining zest into a large pot (like a Dutch oven). Cut lemon in half and squeeze out enough juice to yield 2 Tbsp. into a small bowl; set aside.</p><p>Cook pasta in another large pot of boiling heavily salted water, stirring occasionally, until very al dente (pasta will finish cooking in the sauce).</p><p>Meanwhile, add cream to pot with lemon zest and cook over medium heat, whisking often, until liquid is just beginning to simmer, about 2 minutes. Reduce heat to medium-low. Whisk in butter 1 Tbsp. at a time until melted and sauce is creamy and emulsified. Remove from heat.</p><p>Just before pasta is al dente, scoop out 1½ cups pasta cooking liquid. Add ¾ cup pasta cooking liquid to cream sauce and return to medium heat. Using tongs, transfer spaghetti to pot with sauce (it’s okay if a little water comes along with it). Cook, tossing often and adding Parmesan little by little, until cheese is melted and sauce is creamy, about 3 minutes. If sauce looks tight, add 1–2 Tbsp. pasta cooking liquid. (Cream sauces tighten up very quickly as they cool, so it’s better to lean on the saucier side of things.) Stir in reserved lemon juice; season with more salt, if needed.</p><p>Divide pasta among bowls. Season with pepper, then top with reserved lemon zest strips.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Sex on the Beach</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kurt walked into his building early on Friday morning, holding back a yawn as he walked towards his office. He smiled when he saw Marley already sat at her desk, bent over her phone and typing away furiously. “Morning, Mar,” he said, “you look busy.”</p><p>Marley looked up, a light blush colouring her cheeks. “Oh, morning, Boss! You’re not usually this early.”</p><p>“I have a deadline coming up so I figured I’d come in early and get a head start,” Kurt replied, “what are you up to?”</p><p>Marley grinned. “Oh! Um… some friends of mine just messaged me. They got engaged the other night!” </p><p>Kurt tried to ignore the cynic in the back of his mind that callously drawled <em> it won’t last </em> and instead smiled at her. “That’s great, congratulations to your friends,” he said, knocking on her desk lightly. “Let me know if you need any days off for the wedding.”</p><p>Marley smiled thankfully at him, putting her phone away. “Thanks, Mr. Hummel.” She sighed, placing her chin in her hands as she looked down at her phone, smiling at a photo of a dark skinned girl grinning at the camera and holding up her left hand while her fiancé smiled at her like she was his moon and stars. “I wonder if I’ll ever find love like that.” </p><p>Kurt hummed, looking at the picture over Marley’s shoulder. “Don’t we all,” he mumbled dryly. “They look like a cute couple, though.”</p><p>As he turned to enter his office, he heard Marley quietly call out to him. “Oh, by the way, Mr. Gilbert came by after you went home yesterday. He left you something on your desk.” </p><p>Kurt hummed in acknowledgement and closed the door. He sat down in his chair and swiveled around for a moment, eyeing the blank walls and boring furniture. In the three years that he’d been working here, he still hadn’t found the time or the energy to redecorate -- or even <em> decorate </em> -- his office. </p><p>On his desk was one photo of him, his father, step-mother, and step-brother, and a <em> Hummel </em> figurine that Elliott had given him as a gag-gift for Christmas one year, but apart from that, his desks and walls remained bare. </p><p>He didn’t really know why that was. The thought of putting effort into making his office even <em> feel </em>like his own space made Kurt feel uncomfortable. The permanence of his job hadn’t sunk in yet. Sometimes when he walked into his office, he still felt like a hopeless intern; a fraud. </p><p>Kurt shook his head and straightened up, looking down at his desk and seeing a magazine sitting on top of his laptop. There was a post-it note stuck to the front, obstructing the face of the man on the cover. </p><p>
  <em> Happy early early birthday ;) - E </em>
</p><p>Kurt laughed quietly and sat down, picking up the magazine and tearing the post-it note off of the cover, revealing the man on the cover. </p><p><a href="https://twitter.com/DarrenCriss/status/1062403864240959488"> <b>GQ</b> </a> </p><p>
  <em> Top Chefs: Blaine Devon Anderson, Uncensored </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The story of how he kicked over his family’s footsteps and forged a new path. </em>
</p><p>Kurt scoffed quietly. “Forged a new path,” he mumbled, “that’s a bit dramatic.” Though Kurt had to admit, he <em> was </em> pretty cute. His dark curls were styled artfully out of his face and his light hazel eyes were framed by a thin pair of glasses. There was a slight, cocky smile on his face that Kurt didn’t know whether to class as irritating or handsome. He settled on both. </p><p>He opened the magazine and flipped to Blaine’s article, his eyes appreciatively taking in the new picture provided before he settled in to read the actual interview itself.</p><p>
  <b> <em>GQ: So, Blaine, your father is Richard Anderson, correct?</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> BA: Yes, that’s correct.  </em>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>GQ: The same Richard Anderson who owns Anderson and Sons Real Estate, the biggest real estate firm in New York. </em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> BA: Yep *laughs*. </em>
</p><p>Kurt rolled his eyes as he read. Was <em> this </em> what people classified as journalism nowadays? Vapid and uninteresting questions about the subject’s family life? </p><p>
  <b> <em>GQ: I have to ask, and I’m sure our readers are interested as well, why choose cooking? Especially with your connections?</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> BA: Well, cooking has always resonated with me more than following in my father’s footsteps. It was something that was really prominent in our house when I was growing up and if I’m being honest, I was always a lot more interested in it. Sorry, Dad. </em>
</p><p><b> <em>Blaine laughs after making that comment, looking absolutely dashing in every conceivable way. </em> </b> </p><p>Kurt raised his eyebrows. It seemed that he wasn’t the only one who appreciated Blaine’s looks.</p><p>The rest of the interview was led similarly. Kurt was impressed with how Blaine managed to answer each one of the interviewer’s shallow and at times <em> stupid </em> questions carefully and honestly.</p><p>
  <b> <em>GQ: Thank you for joining us, Blaine, it’s been wonderful having you. We just have one more question before we go. </em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> BA: Oh, sure, okay! </em>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>GQ: Is there a Mrs. Anderson we have to keep an eye out for?</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> BA: *laughs* Uh… no, no there isn’t. I guess I haven’t found the right guy to cook for yet. </em>
</p><p>Kurt’s eyebrows shot up at the last sentence written at the very bottom of the page. <em> Guy. </em> Blaine was gay? That was certainly new information that Kurt hadn’t stumbled across while researching his restaurant. </p><p>He looked at the picture of Blaine in the magazine and bit his lower lip. He really was quite handsome. He finally understood what Elliott had meant when he’d said <em> old Hollywood </em>. Kurt could almost imagine Blaine wearing a delectably cut three-piece suit and singing in the rain. As he gazed at the picture idly, he did something he normally didn’t let himself do. </p><p>He let his mind wander. He looked at the bright, soulful eyes gazing at the camera so intently and wondered what it would be like to have those eyes looking at <em> him. </em> He wondered what it would be like to have those arms wrapped around him, keeping him warm during the brisk New York winter. </p><p>Kurt sighed, savouring the memory before hastily closing the magazine and shoving it into his desk drawer. Fantasizing wasn’t something he did often. It only led to false expectations and let-downs. So, with the magazine out of sight and out of mind, Kurt opened his laptop and opened up a fresh word document, typing in the headline for his new article.</p><p>He didn’t think about the magazine again for the rest of the day. </p>
<hr/><p>Kurt sighed, wrinkling his nose as he held a shirt up to his torso. “What about this one?” Kurt heard a tinny groan coming from his phone, “Elliott, I swear if you’re having sex with Micah while on facetime with me <em> again--” </em></p><p>“That wasn’t a groan of pleasure, Kurt, it was a groan of exasperation,” Elliott replied, cattily rolling his eyes. “You’d <em> know </em> if it were the pleasured type.” </p><p>Kurt put the shirt back on the rack carefully and placed his hands on his hips. “If you’d just help me pick an outfit, this would go a lot smoother.” Kurt looked at his best friend smiling playfully as he watched him cycle through outfit after outfit. </p><p>“Kurt, you know you’d look hot in anything. We’re gonna be late for our reservation.” Elliott pouted. “What about that <a href="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/ff37bd_110e8f9a9085472186830ebaea60c133.jpg/v1/fill/w_600,h_480,al_c,lg_1,q_80/ff37bd_110e8f9a9085472186830ebaea60c133.webp"> black lace shirt </a> I got you for your birthday?”</p><p>Kurt scoffed but reached for it regardless. “Elliott, this is <em> barely </em> a shirt, it’s just lace with buttons.” He shucked off his shirt and put it on anyway, running his hands over the soft material. It <em> did </em> feel quite nice… and if he was going to be dancing, he supposed he’d thank himself later for picking something with good ventilation. </p><p>He heard Elliott wolf-whistle at him over the phone and he laughed, feeling a bashful blush rising to his cheeks. </p><p>“Damn, Kurt, you’re lucky that I’m in a loving and committed relationship,” Elliott said, grinning. “Is that the one?” </p><p>Kurt examined his side profile in the mirror and smirked before grabbing a black faux-fur vest and slipping it on. “Yeah, I think it is. Okay, I’m gonna do my hair and then I’ll meet you guys at the restaurant.”</p><p> He heard the telltale beeps of Elliott hanging up and Kurt let out a breath. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to get out of this night but he was excited, and that was always a good sign.</p>
<hr/><p>After the restaurant was closed and all the counters and tables were wiped down, Wes cornered Blaine before he had the chance to slip away. </p><p>“So, you’re coming, right?” Wes asked. Blaine looked down and raised his eyebrows, quietly wondering when Wes found the time to change out of his chef’s jacket between wipe-down and now. </p><p>“Uh… coming to…?” Blaine asked, trying to find a way to gracefully slide past Wes. Wes crossed his arms. </p><p>“You know exactly what you committed to, Blaine,” Wes said, raising his eyebrows steadily. “Don’t make me call David.” </p><p>Blaine rolled his eyes but felt a smile teasing at the corners of his lips. “Yeah, yeah, I was just kidding. Just… let me go home and get changed first, okay? I smell like garlic and…” Blaine paused, turning his head to sniff at his shoulder before wrinkling his nose. “...orange.”</p><p>“Some guys might be into that,” Wes remarked playfully as they walked out onto the sidewalk together, “and there’s no way I’m letting you go home alone. You’ll sit on your bed and ‘accidentally’ fall asleep like you did <em> last </em>time David and I tried to get you to come out with us.” </p><p>“Okay, okay, <em> Mom </em>,” Blaine mumbled, “but that means you have to help me pick an outfit, too.”</p><p>Wes groaned loudly, giving Blaine a little shove. “Ugh, fine. Being your friend is so hard.”</p>
<hr/><p>They arrived at the club a little after 11pm, both slightly tipsy already from the shots of tequila they’d done at Blaine’s apartment, a well meaning but useless christmas gift from Cooper. As the alcohol coursed through his system and sat in his stomach, Blaine was reminded of how staunchly out of practice he was with <em> this </em> type of drinking.</p><p>There was a large neon sign outside of the club that said <em> Levels </em>in a cursive font. Blaine wrinkled his nose at the gaudiness. </p><p>“David’s already inside,” Wes said, his cheeks already slightly flushed from the alcohol. “This is gonna be the <em> best </em>!” </p><p>Blaine grinned, swayed by seeing his friend’s optimism. “I’m sure it will.”</p><p>They entered the club and immediately, Blaine’s senses were overwhelmed by the heady smell of sweat mixed with alcohol and the loud music playing over the speakers. The music was so loud that Blaine briefly wondered if it were possible for the volume of a song to change the way his heart was beating. </p><p>They spotted David quickly, resting against the bar and looking at his phone, probably wondering where they both were. </p><p>“David!” Blaine called, shuffling through the crowd in the most polite way he could (though it was difficult when the bar was packed practically wall-to-wall with people). </p><p>David looked up at the call of his name and grinned when he spotted Blaine and Wes coming towards him, opening his arms and quickly pulling them both in for a group hug. “Hey, guys!” </p><p>Blaine laughed and happily returned the hug, patting his friend on the back lightly. “Have you started drinking already?” </p><p>David pulled away and chuckled, lifting up a beer bottle on the bar top. “You guys have to catch up! This is my second drink,” he exclaimed, gesturing towards the bartender and signalling for him to bring them two more beers. “I’ve missed you! Feels like it’s been forever.” </p><p>The bartender placed two bottles of beer on the counter and took off the bottle caps swiftly, shooting them all a smile. </p><p>“Not my fault! It’s Blaine’s,” Wes said, nodding at the bartender and taking a swig from the bottle. “All he wants to do these days is work then go home. <em> Boring. </em>”</p><p>Blaine smiled guiltily. “I… yeah, but we’re all here now, right? That’s worth something.” </p><p>They all clinked the necks of their bottles together before taking a hearty sip which inevitably turned into a ‘who can finish their beer the quickest’ competition. David won easily with Wes finishing close behind, leaving Blaine to finish the rest of his beer as the two of them cheered him on, much to his embarrassment (and secret delight).</p><p>He slammed the bottle down on the table and took a breath, laughing as Wes and David whooped and patted him on the back. “It’s been a while since I did that.” </p><p>“Well, get ready for more ‘cause we’re not leaving until you are <em> toasted </em>.” Before Blaine could protest, Wes turned to the bartender and ordered a round of shots. Blaine grinned and shook his head, feeling his chest warm up pleasantly from both the alcohol and the camaraderie. </p>
<hr/><p>Kurt, at the tender age of 30 (which was <em> not </em> old, he would insist), truly couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten this drunk. At this point, people were just moving colours and music was the most fantastic thing that had ever happened to the planet Earth (save for Bette Midler, of course).</p><p>He grinned when Elliott took his hand and twirled him, shimmying his shoulders and laughing joyously when the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9hGdmEwBwbg"> song </a> on the speakers changed abruptly. He looked just behind Elliott’s shoulder to where Micah was standing by the wall, watching them with a fond smile on his face. Kurt grinned and pulled Elliott closer to talk into his ear.</p><p>“Go get your boyfriend,” Kurt said, pointing towards Micah. “I’m gonna go get another drink.”</p><p>“Gladly!” Elliott yelled back, pushing Kurt towards the bar and dancing towards his boyfriend. </p><p>Kurt giggled and waved playfully at the both of them before stumbling towards the bar, taking a second to mentally compose himself. He closed his eyes and placed both hands on the bar top, letting himself sway gently to the music as he tried to get his bearings. </p><p>He opened his eyes and tried to get the bartender’s attention when he saw someone join him at the bar out of the corner of his eye. Kurt turned and raised his eyebrows. The man was tall. Blond. <em> Boring </em>. Kurt had never been into the hunky blonde thing. He turned back around and tried to hail the bartender, snapping his fingers to no effect. </p><p>“The trick is to make eye contact with them,” Blond-and-Boring announced, as if Kurt had asked, which he <em> hadn’t. </em> </p><p><em> What do you think I’ve been doing for the past two minutes, waving goodbye to ships leaving the harbour? </em>Though of course, Kurt didn’t say that. Instead, he gave Blondie a terse smile before turning to the bartender who’d finally seemed to notice him.  </p><p>“Sex on the beach, please,” Kurt said, reaching into his pocket for his credit card. Before he could pay, Blondie swooped in and slapped a $50 on the counter, grinning at Kurt. </p><p>“And a whiskey on the rocks,” he said in a thick British accent, winking at the bartender. “Keep the change.”</p><p>Kurt raised his eyebrows. <em> Just who do you think you’re impressing </em>? Kurt wondered, sighing softly. He suddenly remembered why he’d stopped coming to clubs. </p><p>“Um… thank you, but I can buy my own drinks,” Kurt said, hoping he didn’t sound as annoyed as he felt. </p><p>“Well, guys as cute as yourself shouldn’t have to,” Blondie said with a wink. Kurt wrinkled his nose. He was obviously the type of guy who thought having an accent was a personality trait.</p><p>“I’m not interested.” Kurt smiled tightly at the bartender who handed him his cocktail. To his annoyance, Blondie remained standing by his side, twirling the ice cubes around in his glass. </p><p>“I’m Adam,” he said, his eyes roaming down Kurt’s form. “Can I at least get a name? In exchange for the drink.” </p><p>Kurt sighed heavily, wondering if it was too early to call it a night. “Nope.” </p><p>Then, Kurt heard a second voice coming from behind <em> Adam </em>. Intrigued, he leaned back slightly, trying to catch a glimpse. </p><p>“Excuse me, sir,” the voice said, “but, um… I couldn’t help but notice the BMW key fob poking out of your back pocket.”</p><p>Adam’s charming smile was replaced with a sneer, obviously irritated that someone <em> dared </em> interrupt his tactless flirting. “And?” </p><p>“Well, I just… I saw someone towing a BMW out in the parking lot,” the man said, “thought it <em> might </em> be yours?” </p><p>Kurt held back a laugh as he watched Adam’s expression drop before he practically ran to the exit, leaving his half-full glass of whisky on the counter to collect condensation. He shook his head before turning back to look at the man who’d taken Adam’s place. </p><p>He was shorter than Kurt, with dark hair that was beginning to escape the product it was being held with (mousse, maybe? Or gel). The man was resting his elbows on the counter and talking to the bartender and paying Kurt no mind, almost as if he’d had no idea that he’d just saved Kurt from the most awkward pick-up of his life. </p><p>“Thank you,” Kurt called, taking another slow sip from his drink as the man turned to face him. <em> Oh </em>. </p><p>Kurt blinked at the man in front of him. His lips were moving but he couldn’t hear a word he was saying. As his eyes travelled across the man’s face, he wondered to himself when it had become possible for cartoon characters to come alive because this man was <em> definitely </em>the real-life version of Prince Eric.</p><p>He also looked… vaguely familiar, though Kurt couldn’t place it. There was something in the eyes… </p><p>“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Kurt asked, smiling sheepishly. The man laughed and took a step forward, tilting his head closer to Kurt’s until Kurt could smell the ghost of his cologne lingering in his nose. </p><p>“I said, anyone who drives a BMW in New York city is either an asshole or delusional,” the man said, raising his voice slightly so Kurt could hear him over the music. He got a slightly hesitant look on his face then. Guilty, almost. “Was he… a friend of yours?”</p><p>“No!” Kurt couldn’t get the word out of his mouth fast enough, “absolutely <em> not </em>, he was… he was the opposite of a friend of mine actually.” </p><p>A silly smile grew on the man’s face. “An enemy?” The smile was so bright and goddamn contagious, Kurt found himself smiling too. </p><p>“You could say that,” Kurt said, unable to hold back the laugh bubbling in his chest and <em> oh </em> he was possibly a lot drunker than he thought. “I’m Kurt.” </p><p>The man grinned. “Blaine.” </p><p><em> Blaine </em>. Kurt pondered the name as he wrapped his lips around his straw and took another long sip of his drink, savouring the taste of grapefruit and vodka as his eyes studied Blaine’s face. Blaine was a nice name, he decided. </p><p>“Are you, um… are you here by yourself, Kurt?” Blaine asked. </p><p>Kurt felt a smile grow on his lips when he saw the minute flicker of Blaine’s eyes watching as he sipped his drink. He placed the almost-empty glass on the counter and looked out towards the dance floor where Elliott and Micah were dancing as if they were the only two people in the room. </p><p>“No, I came here with some friends, but I think they’re a little preoccupied with each other,” Kurt replied, resting his chin in his hand and gazing at Blaine through his eyelashes. “What about you?” </p><p>“I’m sure my friends are around here somewhere,” Blaine said. He placed his glass on the table and turned on the barstool until his knee was brushing against the inside of Kurt’s thigh. “I’m having fun talking to you, though.” </p><p>They were close enough now that Kurt could almost count the number of (obscenely long) eyelashes that lined Blaine’s eyes. He could feel warmth travelling up his thigh from where Blaine’s knee was pressed against him. Kurt bit back a sly smile.</p><p>“Talking is definitely fun,” he said, trailing his finger down the edge of his glass, watching as the condensation ran down and hit the counter. “I can think of a few things that are more fun.”</p><p>A smirk grew on Blaine’s face and Kurt looked away, thankful that he was sitting down. That face shouldn’t have had the power to make Kurt feel weak in the knees like a bashful schoolboy meeting a cute boy for the first time. </p><p>“Oh, yeah?” Blaine asked. He reached for Kurt’s glass, stirring the ice and remaining cocktail before taking a sip, his eyes practically boring into Kurt’s. “Like what?”</p><p>Kurt raised his eyebrows, a sly smile growing on his face. “I think I could probably show you better than I could tell you.” </p><p>Kurt slid off the bar stool and placed a hand on Blaine’s arm as he pretended to steady himself. <em> Firm. Very nice. </em> He would file that information away for later. Blaine got up as well, gently gripping Kurt’s elbow. He leaned in until his lips were mere centimeters away from Kurt’s ear. </p><p>“You’re sure your friends won’t miss you?” Blaine asked quietly. Kurt could feel Blaine’s breath brush against the shell of his ear and he shuddered pleasantly. </p><p>Kurt looked over at the dance floor and saw Elliott looking in his direction, a look of delighted surprise plastered on his face. He looked back at Blaine and smiled. “I’m sure. Let’s get out of here.”</p>
<hr/><p>
  <a href="https://mixthatdrink.com/sex-on-the-beach/"> <strong>Chapter Recipe: Sex on the Beach</strong> </a>
</p>
<ul>
<li>2 ounces of vodka</li>
<li>1 ounce of peach schnapps</li>
<li>2 ounces of grapefruit juice (or orange juice)</li>
<li>2 ounces of cranberry juice</li>
<li>Optional: teaspoon of lemon juice</li>
</ul><p>Throw all of your ingredients into a highball glass with ice and stir. Tweak the ingredients to taste. Garnish with an orange round and some cherries.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hope you guys enjoyed the first two chapters of this new fic!! i've been working on this for a super long time and i hope you all love it as much as i do &lt;3 </p><p>another big big thank you to my wonderful beta Nery for helping me throughout this entire process and to Aly for being the BEST cheerleader!!!</p><p>comments and kudos are appreciated &lt;3</p><p>- Brit xx</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Breakfast Sandwiches</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>welcome to the morning after!! </p><p>the response i've gotten for this fic has been so wonderful and encouraging! i'm really glad that people seem to be enjoying the story &lt;3 </p><p>lemme know what u think of the chapter by leaving a comment if ur so inclined &lt;3 </p><p>- Brit</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Kurt woke up the next morning, the first thing he noticed was that he was not in his own bed, that much was clear. The second thing he noticed was the sound of a running shower coming from a vague distance. He groaned quietly and rolled over onto his side, blindly fumbling around the nightstand for his phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He picked it up and squinted at it, glaring at the sunlight that peaked through the windows of the bedroom. No battery. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt sighed and sat up, rubbing his eyes and looking around the room blearily. The decor was nice, if not a little plain. There was an empty feeling to the room that Kurt couldn’t shake. It made him miss his own carefully curated decorations and his own bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He allowed himself to close his eyes for two more seconds before he got up off the bed and attempted to find his clothes. He winced when he saw his shirt in a wrinkled heap on the floor, making a mental note to do laundry as soon as he got back to his apartment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Kurt slowly started to get dressed, he thought back to last night and tried to recall the face of the man whose bed he’d slept in, pouting when he kept drawing a blank. He vaguely remembered a name -- Blake, maybe? -- but the face was nothing more than a blur. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is why I stopped going to clubs, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought, picking his jeans up off the floor. When he stood back up, he looked at the dresser, seeing a few pictures in frames. In one of the pictures was a hoard of boys all wearing the same blazer and tie. It made Kurt smile. Whoever he’d hooked up with had obviously been a private school baby, but it still didn’t narrow down just </span>
  <em>
    <span>who </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’d slept with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as Kurt fastened the button on his pants, with </span>
  <em>
    <span>much</span>
  </em>
  <span> difficulty, he heard the shower stop. He froze in place, his heart beating quickly at the thought of facing the man who’d made Kurt feel things he hadn’t felt in </span>
  <em>
    <span>years.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Intense, heady, sensual things. The man whose face he could barely remember. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe I should leave now. It’s not too late. I could just run--</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the bathroom door opened. Kurt was ashamed to admit that his eyes skipped past the man’s face and instead focused in on his bare torso, still glistening from his shower.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt looked up and blanched. No fucking way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing in front of him, in all of his damp, </span>
  <em>
    <span>unfairly beautiful</span>
  </em>
  <span> glory… was Blaine Anderson. The very same Blaine Anderson he’d ripped apart in his review. The same Blaine Anderson whose pictures he’d spent an almost ungodly amount of time salivating over in the issue of GQ Elliott had given him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning?” Kurt said once he’d located his voice again. “Blaine… right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m surprised you remembered…” he paused before smiling mischievously, “Kurt.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way Blaine said his name sent a wave of warmth down Kurt’s chest that quickly settled in his stomach. He saw Blaine’s eyes dart down to his half-buttoned shirt. Kurt thought he might’ve seen a hint of disappointment in Blaine’s eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You hungry?” Blaine asked, grabbing a shirt from his dresser. “If you give me a minute to get dressed, I can make breakfast.”</span>
</p><p><span>Kurt blanched, thinking about the words he’d written in his article. </span><em><span>Lacks passion and personality.</span></em> <em><span>Unremarkable</span></em><span>. “I should really go…” He watched Blaine put on the shirt, only feeling slightly disappointed that his view was suddenly taken away.</span></p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been told I make a pretty great breakfast sandwich,” Blaine said, walking towards Kurt boldly. The heady, freshly showered scent of Blaine’s body wash filled his senses, making him dizzy. Kurt scoffed, rolling his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who told you that?” The question fell out of Kurt’s lips faster than he could control himself. He shut his mouth and looked at Blaine, trying to gauge his reaction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, Blaine only laughed. “How about I make you one, and you can judge for yourself?” The soft look Blaine gave him made Kurt’s throat close. It was a far cry from the seductive, flirty, </span>
  <em>
    <span>drunk</span>
  </em>
  <span> man Kurt had met last night. That’s probably why Kurt said…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” The word slipped out of his mouth breathlessly, only to be rewarded by a blinding grin that took over Blaine’s entire face. Kurt couldn’t find it in himself to regret his decision at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great. You can use the bathroom if you want, too. And any of my products, I don’t mind.” Then, Blaine did something completely outrageous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He placed his hands on Kurt’s waist and pulled him in, pressing a kiss to his lips.  Kurt noticed how soft Blaine’s lips were and how </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> he smelled, all clean and warm. The firm feeling of Blaine’s hands on Kurt’s waist made him feel dangerously secure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But far too soon after their lips met, Blaine, his hands, and his lips were gone. Kurt opened his eyes, trying desperately to maintain his composure and not throw himself at Blaine right then and there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you want I can lend you some clothes,” Blaine offered, “not that you don’t look </span>
  <em>
    <span>fabulous</span>
  </em>
  <span> as is, but… I can’t imagine walking home at 10am in that shirt would be too comfortable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt, still slightly dazed from the peck, looked down at his shirt before looking back at Blaine, forcing a thankful smile onto his face. “That would be nice. Thank you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine simply smiled at him and ushered him towards the bathroom, busying himself with finding a shirt for Kurt to wear. Thankfully, he was so distracted he didn’t even notice the stupefied look Kurt gave him before entering the bathroom and shutting the door tight.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Oh, how Kurt wished he’d been more careful about his phone’s battery life. All he could think about in that moment was how desperately he wanted to call Elliott and tell him about what had happened, how the man whose livelihood he’d basically ripped apart was now </span>
  <em>
    <span>cooking </span>
  </em>
  <span>for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt could just imagine Elliott laughing at the irony. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took Kurt a few minutes to figure out how to work Blaine’s shower, counting way too many knobs and levers than were surely necessary for a shower… but he got it working eventually, stepping under the hot spray and allowing the water to soak his sore muscles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he was done, he dried his hair as best he could with the towel hanging on the rack and tried not to get too caught up in the faint fruity smell that lingered. He took a shot of mouthwash and gargled it around before spitting it out, trying to get the taste of stale alcohol out of his mouth. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>also</span>
  </em>
  <span> tried to style his hair using Blaine’s products. He didn’t get very far, considering Kurt despised gel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Kurt exited the bathroom, he noticed three things at once. The first was the overwhelming yet </span>
  <em>
    <span>delicious</span>
  </em>
  <span> smell of bacon that was floating through the apartment, making Kurt’s mouth water through his hangover. Despite all the healthy eating he preached, he was still Burt Hummel’s son, and bacon was one of his guiltiest pleasures. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second was the shirt that had been left on the bed, carefully and neatly folded with a post-it note stuck to the top with a crudely drawn smiley face on top. As he tugged the shirt on, Kurt took the post-it note and bit his lip, tucking it gently into the pocket of his jeans despite himself. The third and final thing was his phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was plugged into a charger by the nightstand, much to Kurt’s surprise. Blaine must’ve noticed and plugged it in for him. Kurt vaguely wondered how men like Blaine -- considerate, </span>
  <em>
    <span>handsome</span>
  </em>
  <span> men like Blaine who smelled </span>
  <em>
    <span>so good</span>
  </em>
  <span>  -- existed and why Kurt had never managed to encounter one until now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt grabbed his phone, being careful not to yank it off the charger and stopping himself from rejoicing when it turned on. </span>
  <em>
    <span>4%. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Kurt sighed but resolved to leave it plugged in through breakfast (</span>
  <em>
    <span>good lord, breakfast). </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He saw a few text messages from Elliott and huffed, blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Elliott Gilbert, 2:13am: </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>BLAINE. ANDERSON. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Elliott Gilbert, 2:13am: </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>GET SOME!!!!!! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Elliott Gilbert, 2:13am: </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Omg those pics of him in GQ did NOT do him justice he is so much cuter in person</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Elliott Gilbert, 2:14am:</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Anyways have fun also text me when u read these so i know ur not dead xoxoxoxo</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt laughed as he read Elliott’s texts. He’d always thought that Elliott texted like a freshman sorority girl. He kind of loved it. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Kurt Hummel, 9:24am: </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Still at his apartment. I’ll call you in an hour. </span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Kurt emerged from Blaine’s bedroom tentatively, the smell of breakfast and coffee growing stronger as he entered the living room and kitchen area. His stomach rumbled excitedly, wanting something to soak up all the alcohol from last night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine’s back was to him as he stood at the stove, scrambling eggs. Kurt leaned against a wall and regarded Blaine, watching him as he worked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt had tasted his food before, but he’d never seen the master at work, so to speak. It was fascinating, like watching a gymnast. He threw his whole body into his movements, leaving Kurt captivated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few moments, Blaine seemed to realise he was being watched and turned around, smiling at Kurt (who did</span>
  <em>
    <span> not</span>
  </em>
  <span> blush at being caught). “Hey,” he said. Kurt’s eyes darted down to the way Blaine flipped the eggs in the pan whilst making direct eye contact with him, wondering why he found that image so appealing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” Kurt said, walking towards Blaine slowly, like a zookeeper afraid of scaring off an animal. “Thanks for plugging my phone in for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine shrugged as he turned back to the food, piling the eggs onto a plate. “No problem, it’s the least I could do.” He turned off the stove and bent down (leaving Kurt to appreciate his very, </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>nice… cookware), pulling a pan out of the oven with a steaming croissant on top. The smell of butter and pastry filled Kurt’s nose, making his stomach cry out.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That smells delicious,” Kurt said, voice filled with awe as he looked over the spread of ingredients on Blaine’s counter. He watched as Blaine assembled the breakfast sandwich deftly and quickly, like he’d done it thousands of times before. Kurt didn’t want to think of the implications of that. “This is…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... Is?” Blaine asked, smiling at Kurt as he spread a little bit of guacamole onto one half of a croissant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt smiled back, taking a seat at Blaine’s breakfast bar. “Unexpected.” He settled on finally, biting his lip as Blaine placed a finished sandwich on his plate and presented it to him with a flourish. The smell filled Kurt’s head pleasantly. He picked it up and took a large bite, blushing when guacamole fell out of the other side and landed in a small heap on the plate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine simply laughed, watching him with an intense, amused look on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt fought back the urge to make an absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>obscene </span>
  </em>
  <span>noise as he ate the sandwich, the flavours all mingling beautifully on his tongue. He tried to think of the man in front of him cooking the food he’d eaten and ruthlessly reviewed, but his brain wouldn’t allow the two images to mingle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The food he’d tasted that day at </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stella d’Oro </span>
  </em>
  <span>had been delicious but lacking, somehow. A beautiful yet hollow experience. Kurt found himself forgetting what the food had tasted like as soon as his plates were cleared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the simple sandwich he was eating now was the exact opposite. The more Kurt ate, the hungrier he got for more. Kurt could tell it was made with care. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, huh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt stumbled out of his reverie at Blaine’s voice, looking up and sheepishly wiping his mouth with a napkin that he’d handed him. “Um… it’s delicious,” Kurt said. He could feel a blush steadily rising to his cheeks at how carried away he’d gotten. “Thank you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t thank me.” Blaine poured some coffee into two mugs and handed one to Kurt, slowly sipping his own as he took a seat next to him. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt eyed Blaine’s cup and raised his eyebrows. “You’re not eating?” Blaine shrugged and took a sip of coffee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not hungry,” he said, putting his coffee down and leaning in close, bringing his hand up to cup Kurt’s cheek. “It’s a lot more fun to watch people eat my food, in my opinion.” Blaine swiped his thumb against the corner of Kurt’s mouth with a smile. “You had a little sauce right there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt flushed as Blaine stuck his thumb into his mouth, watching him lick off the stray tomato sauce. Blaine dropped his hand and Kurt found himself missing his warmth almost immediately.He distracted himself by grabbing his napkin and wiping his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, last night was…” Kurt trailed off, putting the last bite of his sandwich down on the plate. “I don’t normally do that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine raised his eyebrows. “You don’t normally… do what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt gave Blaine an incredulous look. “I’m not into the whole hooking up thing. Not normally.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m a romantic at heart. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“I think I’m getting a little too old for it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine laughed and the sound sent Kurt’s heart through a series of loops. “How old are you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“30.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re only a year older than me,” Blaine scoffed, nudging Kurt’s shoulder as he got up to get himself more coffee. “And trust me when I say you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>good at ‘the whole hooking up thing’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt laughed, though he felt tightly wound like a violin whose strings were one twist away from snapping. He watched as Blaine poured himself more coffee from a carafe that looked </span>
  <em>
    <span>much </span>
  </em>
  <span>fancier than the one he had at home. “Thanks for breakfast,” he said, wondering if it would be rude if he politely excused himself then and there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t mention it,” Blaine said, taking Kurt’s plate and placing it in the sink. “More coffee?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt looked into his almost full cup and hesitated. “I think I’d better get going, actually.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” If Kurt saw a flash of disappointment on Blaine’s face, he certainly didn’t dwell on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I… I have to get home and feed… my cat,” Kurt stammered, sliding off the kitchen stool and rubbing the back of his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine raised his eyebrows. “You have a cat?” he asked, completely disregarding Kurt’s subtle excuse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, yeah. Her name is Diva,” Kurt said, walking backwards slowly towards Blaine’s bedroom. “She gets cranky when she doesn’t get fed at her usual times, so…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm, I get that,” Blaine said, placing his mug on his kitchen counter and leaning against it. “My dog’s the same way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt paused in his tracks, a small smile growing on his face. “You have a dog?” he asked, looking around the floor as if a puppy would spontaneously appear in front of him. Blaine chuckled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, his name’s Mercury. Like--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“--Freddie Mercury?” Kurt asked, trying to suppress the joy that rose in his chest when Blaine nodded at him proudly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, exactly,” Blaine replied, “he gets a little overzealous around… guests, so I put him in the guest room this morning.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Kurt mumbled, placing his hands in the pockets of his jeans. A small, cheeky smile grew on his face despite himself. “And do you have guests often?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine blushed, looking down at the floor with a bashful smile. “I wouldn’t say </span>
  <em>
    <span>often</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He sauntered forward until he was barely a foot away from Kurt, a smirk growing on his face. “What did you think last night? Am I out of practice?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt’s eyes widened as he once again found himself in close proximity to Blaine, holding his breath to keep from inhaling his near intoxicating scent. “I…” Kurt cleared his throat, “I thought you performed just fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ohh, hold back your praise, I might get a big head,” Blaine said, grinning playfully. Kurt smiled tightly before retreating into Blaine’s bedroom and unplugging his phone from the nightstand and slipping it into the pocket of his jeans. All the while, he could feel Blaine’s eyes practically burning a hole into his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He patted his pockets to make sure he had all of his things and carefully stroked his shirt from last night, folding it carefully and tucking it between his arm and his side. When Kurt turned he saw Blaine watching him, a soft smile on his face. The sunlight streaming the window somehow hit him </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfectly, </span>
  </em>
  <span>making Kurt want to march over and drag him straight back into bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he didn’t. Instead he brushed past Blaine and walked towards the door, trying not to spare him a second glance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um… thanks for lending me your shirt,” Kurt said, keeping his gaze focused on his shoes as he tried to lace them up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No problem,” Blaine said, still holding on to his coffee mug and watching him intently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt laced up his second boot and stood up, looking at Blaine. He sighed quietly to himself before sauntering over and fisting a hand in Blaine’s shirt, pulling him in for one last searing kiss. Kurt tightened his grip on Blaine’s shirt to keep himself from curling his arms fully around the other man’s neck, pulling away before he lost himself in the smell and taste of Blaine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See you around,” Kurt murmured quietly, looking down at Blaine’s lips once more before turning sharply and walking out the door, shutting it tight behind him.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Kurt walked briskly through the foreign neighbourhood and reached for his phone, dialing Elliott’s number. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really meant it when you said you’d call in an hour.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt raised his eyebrows and checked the time, barking out a quick laugh when he saw it was nearly an hour on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>dot</span>
  </em>
  <span> from when he’d told Elliott he’d call. “Well, you know me. Mr. Punctuality and all that.” Elliott’s laugh soaked Kurt’s ear in familiarity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So? Did you call to make small talk or are you gonna tell me all the details of your torrid love affair with Blaine Anderson?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt huffed out a quiet sigh. “I… there was nothing torrid about it. And it wasn’t a love affair, it was just a one night stand,” he said, nibbling on his thumbnail as he tried to navigate through the unfamiliar tree-lined streets. “It was… good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt rolled his eyes as he thought about last night. The details were fuzzy but… he remembered warm arms around his waist, lips against his neck, sweaty skin gliding against one another in a passionate frenzy… it made him shudder. Then he remembered the morning. The sweet kiss Blaine had given him, the scent of raspberry body wash fresh on his skin, and the taste of bacon still lingering on his palate. He sighed. It had been the best breakfast Kurt had had in months.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, it was more than just good,” Kurt said, ignoring Elliott’s triumphant </span>
  <em>
    <span>whoop</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “But I… I didn’t know that it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> when we hooked up! I was so drunk last night, I didn’t even recognise him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that a problem?” Elliott asked. Kurt mulled over the question, nibbling on his lower lip as he flagged down a passing cab. He climbed in and quickly rattled off his address to the driver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t that like… a conflict of interest? I gave his restaurant an awful review then let him screw me six ways to Sunday,” Kurt asked, smiling awkwardly when the driver glanced at him curiously through the rearview mirror. “It wasn’t very professional of me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt could practically hear Elliott rolling his eyes through the phone. “I mean you’re not marrying the guy,” he said, “it was just a hook-up. And besides, it’s not like you fucked and </span>
  <em>
    <span>then</span>
  </em>
  <span> wrote the review, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt hummed slowly, staring out the window at the blur of trees and buildings flying by. “Right…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>And</span>
  </em>
  <span> New York is huge,” Elliott said, “the chances that you’ll run into him again are pretty slim.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right,” Kurt said, rubbing the bridge of his nose and letting his eyes slip shut. “I don’t know why I was freaking out about it, I just…” </span>
  <em>
    <span>There was a connection.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I guess it’s been a while since I did this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elliott hummed sympathetically. “Poor baby,” he said, not an ounce of sarcasm in his voice. “Do you wanna come over tonight? Micah and I were thinking of doing a dinner thing. We might even hate-watch something.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt smiled. “Sure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a while, Kurt hung up, much more comforted in his choices than he had been before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>New York </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> a big city. There was absolutely no way Kurt was ever going to see Blaine Anderson again. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Weekends were the days Blaine usually savoured for himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stella </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn’t open until dinner service during weekends so that left Blaine with too much free time than he normally knew what to do with. He’d have lunch with Wes or David (if they weren’t too busy themselves). He’d pore over recipe books he’d read cover to cover thousands of times before, looking for new inspiration for dishes that would never feasibly see the light of day due to Rachel’s strict menu guidelines. He’d take Mercury out for a walk and maybe get a coffee to help him survive the evening rush. And then he’d get dressed and head to the restaurant, all while staunchly ignoring the quiet loneliness that sat deep in his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most weekends did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> consist of waking up next to the most beautiful man Blaine had ever seen, making breakfast for him, and skirting around the previous night’s events. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hours after Kurt had left were filled with the usual mundanities. Reading, walking Mercury, getting coffee… Blaine did all of the things he normally did, but they all felt different somehow. More electric, and tinged with intensity. Intensity Blaine hadn’t felt since his last relationship. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t realised how much he’d really missed having someone to share his space with, how good it felt to wake up next to someone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The time had passed slower than Blaine would’ve preferred but eventually it was time to leave for work. He filled Mercury’s bowl and gave him a scratch and kiss on the head before heading out, preparing himself for the dinner rush and trying to push out thoughts of Kurt from his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he entered the kitchen, he took a deep breath in, flicking on all of the lights and revelling in the silence for a moment. He stepped into the backroom and took off his shirt, reaching into his locker and pulling on his chefs jacket. He buttoned it up deftly, the same way he’d done thousands of times before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He went about his routine as usual, his thoughts only slightly clouded by the last vestiges of a hangover from last night. The coffee had gotten rid of most of his headache and fatigue, thankfully. But there was another ache that Blaine knew had </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do with his hangover, making itself known as he checked the produce fridge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Half an hour after Blaine started prepping the kitchen for dinner service, Wes arrived, sunglasses slung over his eyes and stubble prominent on his chin. Blaine laughed quietly to himself as his knife drifted through the salmon he was taking apart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When did you get up?” Blaine asked, watching as Wes disappeared into the changing room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wes grunted. “I got out of bed an hour ago,” he yelled back, emerging a few minutes later in his chef’s whites, his toque blanche just slightly askew. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So… good morning?” Blaine said cheekily, laughing when Wes threw a tea towel at him. “Don’t do that when I’m butchering a fish, jackass.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe if you weren’t such a dick, I wouldn’t have to.” Wes reached for a knife but looked up when Blaine stopped him. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, man, you know the rules,” Blaine said, gesturing towards Wes’s stubble with his knife. “Go put on a beard net.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wes looked at him incredulously. “There’s barely a quarter of an </span>
  <em>
    <span>inch </span>
  </em>
  <span>of stubble on my face, Blaine, I hardly think--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“--you know what Rachel’s like with facial hair,” Blaine cut him off, “I wouldn’t normally enforce it but she’s been on edge lately.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wes sighed heavily and walked over to the counter where they kept a few spare toques and the beard nets, sliding one onto his face with a grimace. “What’s wrong with you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine hummed in question, eyes trained on the salmon as he ran his fingers across the fish’s body in search of pin bones. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re all tense,” Wes replied, looking down at where Blaine’s hands were gently caressing the body of the fish. “And you’re… fondling the salmon.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I’m not fondling the salmon!” he said, reaching for a pair of tweezers. “And I’m perfectly fine, thanks for asking.” Blaine could feel his cheeks heating up under Wes’s intent gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does it have anything to do with that guy David saw you talking to?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine’s hand stopped. “I…” he sighed and put the tweezers down, looking up at Wes finally. “Fine. Maybe.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, last night I… I hooked up with this guy</span>
  <em>
    <span>,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Blaine started slowly, “and it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>great</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I mean… really good.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need all the details,” Wes said, with a cheeky smile. “Then what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing. He stayed over, I made him breakfast, and he left.” Blaine squeezed his eyes shut. He felt a familiar throbbing sensation pulsing through his head, reminding him that his hangover was still there. “The rest is just me being dramatic.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You liked him?” Wes asked quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine sucked on his teeth, nodding. “It’s dumb. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> it’s stupid to be hung up over a one night stand but…” Blaine picked up the tweezers and looked back down at the salmon, roughly pinching and pulling out a bone. “... I felt a connection.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wes sighed and stood next to Blaine, bumping his shoulder lightly. He was quiet for a few moments before he spoke. “Did you get his number?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine shook his head, pulling out the last of the bones and placing them in a bowl to be discarded. “He left before I got to ask.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wes patted his back. “Sorry, Blaine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” Blaine said with a heavy sigh, grabbing the bowl and throwing the bones into the bin, watching as they all fell into a small clump at the bottom of the near-empty trash can. “I’ll get over him. It was just nice to </span>
  <em>
    <span>be</span>
  </em>
  <span> with someone again after…” Blaine trailed off. A heavy silence fell between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wes walked towards Blaine, slinging an arm around his shoulder. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t really need to. Blaine rested his head on Wes’s shoulder briefly before pushing him away, a smile growing on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, sappy moment over,” he said, turning out of Wes’s hold and grabbing his salmon knife. “Why don’t you go fillet one of the sea breams?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wes eyed Blaine carefully but nodded, walking towards the chiller and grabbing one of the fish from inside, placing it on the table. He looked at Blaine who was carefully and meticulously separating the salmon body into fillets and sighed, beginning to work on his own fish.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The rest of the kitchen staff filtered into the kitchen one by one. At exactly 5:30pm, the door burst open as Rachel walked into the kitchen, a maniacal smile on her face and a few pieces of paper in her hand. She seemed to have a way of making everyone know exactly when to look at her. “Evening, everyone!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone mumbled their quiet greetings and stood at attention. Blaine looked at the papers in her hand and raised his eyebrow slowly. “Um… whatcha got there, Rach?” He asked cautiously, stepping forward and taking a sheet of paper when she offered one to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“New menu items!” She said, walking around and passing sheets of paper to everyone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine paused. “New…” he could feel the tension in his head build until there was an uncomfortable pressure practically squeezing his brain. “Rachel, you know… as the </span>
  <em>
    <span>head chef</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you and I are supposed to talk about new menu items together.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel shrugged, walking back to the front of the room once she’d handed everyone a copy of the new menu. “Well, it was just easier to come up with the ideas myself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With all due respect, you don’t have the same background in food and menu creation as I do,” Blaine said, trying to keep his voice level. “And you can’t just spring something like this on us so quickly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel raised her eyebrows at him. “Well, we don’t open for another hour and a half. That should be enough time to familiarise yourself with my… suggestions.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wes and Blaine exchanged a quiet look. Blaine’s eyes wandered over to the knife block, quietly wondering to himself when the last time he’d sharpened his chef’s knife was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um… smoked watermelon ham?” Mason said quietly, eyebrows furrowed. “Wh-why are there so many vegan options?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?” Rachel responded, glaring at Mason fiercely, “there’s a rising vegan market that we have to cater to!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Since when?” Blaine asked, “our vegan options are the lowest selling items on the menu, why would we add </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blaine, I would appreciate it if you didn’t criticise my choices in front of </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> staff,” Rachel said. If she were a toddler, she might’ve stamped her foot in anger. But she was a 30-year-old woman, so she definitely did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> do that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine walked toward her, pulling her by the elbow to the front of the house, out of the kitchen. “Is this about Pavarotti’s review?” he asked quietly. “You told us there was no reason to be discouraged, and suddenly you’re changing things?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel clenched her jaw, looking across the restaurant and avoiding Blaine’s eyes. “We’ve had a few… cancellations,” she said quietly, “nothing to be worried about, though. And my changes have nothing to do with that </span>
  <em>
    <span>pedestrian </span>
  </em>
  <span>who doesn’t know the difference between fine dining and the nearest McDonalds.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rachel--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“--is this going to be an issue, Blaine?” she asked sharply, “because if it is, I can easily promote Wes to chef de cuisine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine shut his mouth, his teeth grinding together almost painfully. “No. Not an issue,” he mumbled, giving her one last look before turning on his heel and walking back to the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he pushed open the double doors, everyone turned to face him, the chatter dying down to a quiet hum. Blaine breathed out slowly and roughly snatched one of the menu copies from the countertop, his eyes scanning each new menu item slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. What Rachel says goes, so… let’s get to work, everyone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone scurried to their respective stations, lists in hand. Blaine took a moment to himself and watched, trying his best to ignore the headache that was roaring in his ears before grabbing his chefs knife and walking to the produce fridge to grab a head of cauliflower for Rachel’s asinine cauliflower rice risotto idea. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There was no way that the cauliflower would soak up the stock the same way as arborio--</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay, man?” Wes asked, standing in front of Blaine and eyeing the knife in his hand warily. “That look in your eye tells me you shouldn’t be holding a knife.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine sighed, forcing a small smile. “I’m fine, okay? Let’s just… try our best to make </span>
  <em>
    <span>some </span>
  </em>
  <span>of these options work before we open.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wes seemed hesitant to let him go but he nodded nonetheless, walking to his own station to help Kitty with one of the dessert items. Blaine watched him go, Rachel’s threat turning over and over in his head.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <a href="https://pinchofyum.com/breakfast-sandwich">
    <strong>Chapter Recipe: Breakfast Sandwiches</strong>
  </a>
</p><ul>
<li><span>2 Eggs</span></li>
<li><span>1-2 Slices cooked bacon</span></li>
<li><span>1 Croissant, cut in half</span></li>
<li><span>Guacamole</span></li>
<li><span>Pepperjack cheese</span></li>
<li>
<span>B</span><a href="https://pinchofyum.com/tomato-sauce"><span>asic garlic butter tomato sauce</span></a>
</li>
</ul><p>
  <span>Toast your croissant for a few minutes in a 350 degree oven, cut side down on a cooking sheet. You can also do this in the toaster if your croissants fit in there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When croissants are toasted and all other ingredients are out and ready, cook up your eggs (the website says scrambled, but I would recommend a typical sunny-side up! I personally enjoy a runny yolk)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Assemble sandwiches immediately, while eggs are at their best – a layer of tomato sauce, eggs, cheese, bacon, and guac on top. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Vietnamese Iced Coffee</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i know i said i'd upload chapters every other day but i keep getting too excited to upload so HERE'S CHAPTER 4 &lt;3 </p><p>i've been so so grateful for the comments and love i've been receiving on this fic so far!! thank you to everyone who's taken time out of their day to read my story, write a comment, or even send a kudo my way &lt;3 </p><p>i hope u enjoy chapter 4 and the recipe at the end!! </p><p>- Brit xx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Soft hands feverishly caressed his neck and shoulders, gripping tight. Nails dug into skin, leaving flushed, crescent shapes in their wake. Blaine could feel the warmth of someone's breath huffing against the skin on his neck, sending shivers down his spine. His eyes were closed. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It was hot. So, so hot underneath the covers. Why were they under the blankets? Still, the sheets were soft under Blaine’s fingers; soft and familiar. Sweat dripped slowly down his forehead as a voice in his ear whined and moaned. Blaine threw his head back in ecstasy, savouring each sound as it came.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He was desperate to catch a glimpse at the person responsible for the outrageous pleasure he was feeling. The first thing Blaine saw when he opened his eyes was a pair of deep, blue eyes blinking right back at him. </em>
</p><hr/><p>Blaine woke up groggy and cranky, his eyes practically refusing to open. He could feel a very inconvenient reaction stirring in his pants as a result of his dream. It had been a week since his <em> close encounter </em>with Kurt and yet somehow, he still managed to play around in the edges of Blaine’s mind. Always there in the background, idle.</p><p>Then, as he rolled out of bed, he stepped directly in a wet patch. As the liquid hit Blaine’s foot, he sighed heavily, looking over at Mercury who was sitting in the corner of his bedroom, guiltily chewing on one of his toys. All memories of the dream he’d just had vanished from Blaine’s mind and he carefully rubbed the space in between his eyes. </p><p>“Really?” Blaine muttered, hopping towards the bathroom to grab a cloth. As he reached under the sink to grab a rag, he lifted his head, bumping it against the edge of the cabinet. “Ah!” He heard the ‘<em> tap tap tap </em>’ of little paws coming to his aid and he sighed once again. Blaine looked at Mercury, rubbing the back of his head. “This is your fault, y’know.” </p><p>Mercury tilted his head, blinking at him innocently. Blaine mustered up a smile and gently scratched in between his ears before going to clean up the mess. </p><p>After he cleaned up Mercury’s mess, Blaine quietly went about his morning, his feet dragging just a tad more than usual. After he showered and brushed his teeth, he cursed loudly to no one in particular when he found his pot of hair gel was empty. There wasn’t even enough to scrape around the sides. He groaned and leaned forward, resting his forehead against the mirror as he tried not to throw the pot to the ground in frustration.</p><p>It was days like these that Blaine felt the most lonely. There was no one he could complain to. No one to share minor inconveniences with. No one to rub his back and tell him that everything would be <em> fine </em>. These days were the hardest. </p><p>He got dressed quickly, looking at the rack of neatly hung bowties and sighed, deciding to forgo it this morning. He grabbed his bag and Mercury’s leash, attaching it to his collar as he tried (and failed) to give the dog a stern look.</p><p>Mercury blinked up at him, tilting his head to the side, melting Blaine’s heart just a little bit.</p><p>“Just because I’m frustrated at you for peeing next to my bed, doesn’t mean you don’t deserve walkies,” he mumbled, scratching underneath Mercury’s chin and smiling for what felt like the first time since he’d woken up.</p><p>They left Blaine’s apartment building and walked together at a slow, leisurely pace, basking in the sunshine. Blaine could feel his spirits lifting just the tiniest bit as he watched Mercury stop to sniff at a flower growing out of a crack in the sidewalk.</p><p>He looked across the street at a young couple walking together, arms linked between them and talking close. There was a tiny chihuahua on a leash between them, walking in the middle of the sidewalk like it owned the place, head held high. It’s owners were watching the chihuahua fondly. Just watching them made Blaine’s heart ache.</p><p>Jeremy had never liked animals. He’d always seen Mercury as a chore rather than a living creature to love and cherish. He’d always let Blaine take him for walks and pay for the vet bills and buy new pet food whenever the bag ran out. Blaine had dealt with it because he’d loved--</p><p>Well, he supposed that didn’t matter much anymore. Jeremy was long gone.</p><p>As his eyes lingered on the couple and their chihuahua, he barely noticed his grip on Mercury’s leash loosening until it was too late. Mercury, seemingly noticing the sudden lack of restraint he’d been given, took advantage of the opportunity and raced down the sidewalk like a bullet. </p><p>Suddenly, Blaine looked down. The leash that was once in his grip was now gone. He could feel his heart drop to his feet. His eyes shot up as he caught a glimpse of Mercury running down the sidewalk at top speed, toward <em> what </em> Blaine couldn’t see. <em> Shit. </em></p><p>“Mercury!”</p><hr/><p>Mornings were Kurt’s favourite time of the day. Some mornings were slow and calm, the kind of mornings spent sitting at a window of a coffee shop, waiting for time to pass and the day to officially begin. Others were a flurry of action and frantic energy, where a quick shot of caffeine had to be enough to get his day started. Those mornings were Kurt’s favourites. The mornings that left him gasping for air, energy buzzing in his fingertips as he moved from place to place.</p><p>However, most of his mornings didn’t involve getting jumped by a medium-sized border collie with the most soulful eyes Kurt had ever seen on a dog. The dog jumped up onto its hind legs, two front paws resting on either side of Kurt’s hips as he panted up at him. Kurt melted. </p><p>“Hi!” he said with a chuckle, tentatively leaning down and giving the dog a quick scratch behind the ear. “Where did you come from, fella?” The dog in question tilted his head at him, closing his mouth and staring at Kurt inquisitively. </p><p>As he scratched lower down, he could feel a leather collar and the rough fabric of a leash under his fingers. He bit his lip. Had this dog run away from its owner? Or gotten loose somehow? Kurt looked around him worriedly, seeing nothing but busy, bustling New Yorkers paying neither him nor the dog any mind. </p><p>Kurt looked back down at the dog who was still staring at him, eyes blinking expectantly as if asking for a treat. He smiled apologetically. “Sorry, I don’t have any treats for you,” he said, “now where did you come from, hm?” He grinned when the dog whined at him and bumped his snout against Kurt’s hand. Who was he to deny a dog his pets?</p><p>Then as his hand settled on the space between the dog’s ears, Kurt heard a voice, frantic and panicked. </p><p>“Mercury!” </p><p>The voice sounded vaguely familiar in a way that sent a shiver down Kurt’s back. Not taking his hands off the dogs head, Kurt looked up and blanched; because running toward him was none other than Blaine Anderson. </p><p>For a moment, Kurt doubted his atheism, because there <em> must </em> have been someone up there that found delight in toying with him.</p><p>Blaine ran forward, eyes fixed on his dog as he practically fell to his knees and re-gripped the dog’s -- Mercury’s -- leash. Placing a gentle hand on his snout until he was facing Blaine instead of Kurt’s legs. “You know better than to run away from me, Mercury,” he said sternly, gasping for breath as he scratched under Mercury’s snout.</p><p>Kurt simply watched, flabbergasted, a dangerous fondness building in the pit of his stomach. His feet felt as though they were stuck to the sidewalk as he watched Blaine affectionately chide the dog. </p><p>Blaine sighed and straightened up, carefully wrapping Mercury’s leash around his wrist before finally looking up. Kurt saw recognition fill his gaze before something else did, something softer that made his fingertips ache.</p><p>“Kurt?”</p><p>“Blaine,” Kurt said, blinking owlishly.</p><p>“H-hey!” Blaine replied, a smile growing on his face as he nervously squeezed Mercury’s leash. “I wasn’t expecting…”</p><p>“This is your dog?” Kurt asked, looking down at Mercury, who looked fairly put-out, ears down. He was staring up at Kurt woefully. “Mercury?”</p><p>“You remembered?” There was a gentle look of surprise on Blaine’s face. </p><p>Kurt huffed out a soft laugh. “I heard you yelling it just now, actually,” a flush spread across Blaine’s face. Had Kurt caused that? “A-and I remember you mentioning you had a dog when we…” Kurt cleared his throat. <em> Who’s blushing now? </em></p><p>Blaine ducked his head bashfully, bending down to give Mercury’s head a light, consoling scratch. He seemed to perk up almost instantly. “Right.” His voice was quiet and low, soaking Kurt’s ears like warm honey. “I’m a little surprised.”</p><p>Kurt raised his eyebrows. “I-I’m surprised too,” he said, “to see you, I mean. I don’t know what you’re surprised about.” He chuckled -- or at least he tried to. It sounded forced in his own ears.</p><p>A strange expression fell on Blaine’s face then. It reminded Kurt of the soft smile Blaine gave him that same morning, right after serving him breakfast. “I actually meant, um… I’m surprised Mercury ran to you,” Blaine replied, “he’s usually really shy.” He paused, smiling down at his dog who was panting up at him. “He won’t even sniff the other dog’s butts at the dog park.”</p><p>Kurt chuckled and kneeled down carefully, carefully scratching Mercury’s chin. “Well, I have a cat at home,” he said, staring into Mercury’s deep brown eyes, “maybe he smelled Diva’s fur on me and wanted a fight.”</p><p>“No,” Blaine said quickly, causing Kurt to look up at him, eyebrows lightly furrowed in confusion. “I think he likes you.” Kurt looked between Blaine and Mercury before smirking lightly to himself. He supposed what people said was true; dog owners really <em> do </em>look like their dogs. </p><p>Kurt stood up, brushing his hand against his pants. A silence grew between the two of them then, stiff and just the slightest bit uncomfortable. Blaine had seen more of Kurt than he was willing to admit, and yet here they were, exchanging pleasantries and small-talk like it had never happened.</p><p>“Well, I should--”</p><p>“Are you--”</p><p>They both chuckled before Kurt gestured vaguely for Blaine to speak first. Blaine smiled at him. </p><p>“Are you doing anything right now?” he asked, twirling Mercury’s leash between his fingers and uncoiling it again. “I-I think Mercury would like it if you joined us for brunch.”</p><p>Kurt smirked, trying his best to fight back the heat that threatened to make itself known on his cheeks. “<em> Just </em>Mercury?” </p><p>Blaine’s grin only grew. “If you don’t want to, I understand. He<em> can </em> be a little clingy.” Then, almost as though he could sense he was being talked about, Mercury barked before joyfully bumping his nose against Kurt’s knee. “So?”</p><p>Kurt laughed at Mercury’s antics, but couldn’t let go of the trepidation that rose in the back of his  mind. He couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right… right? He looked between both of Blaine’s eyes and swallowed nervously. Suddenly, he couldn’t remember a single reason why he couldn’t, or rather <em> shouldn’t </em>, go to brunch with Blaine.</p><p>All he could think about was the sparkle in those eyes, and the way they’d looked at him so tenderly that night when they’d hooked up.</p><p>“Sure,” Kurt found himself saying, giving Blaine a weak smile. “I-I was actually on my way to get coffee, so--”</p><p>“--if it’s coffee you want, I’ll bring you to the <em> best </em>Vietnamese place in Manhattan,” Blaine said with a grin as he began to walk backwards, beckoning Kurt to follow him.</p><p>“Vietnamese?” Kurt asked as he eagerly followed, falling into step beside Blaine.</p><p>“Mhmm,” Blaine hummed, “I promise, once you taste their iced coffee, you’ll be hooked. Not to mention their Banh Mis.” </p><p>They walked together for a few minutes, Kurt quietly listening to Blaine as he told him all about the restaurant they were going to. There was a fire and a light in Blaine’s voice that amused and intrigued Kurt to no end. It reminded him of the first moment Kurt bit into that breakfast sandwich at Blaine’s apartment that morning. </p><p>If this had been a <em> date </em> , Kurt might have felt compelled to contribute to the conversation, for fear of being overshadowed, but… this wasn’t a <em> date. </em> They were just two people going to brunch together; so, Kurt felt content simply listening to Blaine talk. </p><p>When they arrived at the small cafe together, Blaine paused, trailing off quietly. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly, turning to Kurt. His cheeks were a light shade of pink. “I’ve been talking forever.” He tied Mercury’s leash tightly to a bike stand outside the restaurant and produced a silicone pet bowl and a small bottle of water from his bag, placing it in front of him and giving Mercury a pet on the head.</p><p>Kurt smiled at him. “It’s okay,” he replied, “I didn’t mind.” <em> I enjoyed listening.  </em></p><p>As they stepped inside the restaurant, Kurt’s senses were overwhelmed by a myriad of delightful smells and the pleasant sound of quiet music and chatter. The ambience of the restaurant was lovely, but the tables were a little bit close together. Kurt could imagine himself bumping his hips against people as he tried to slither his way out to pay the bill or go to the bathroom.</p><p>“What do you think?” Blaine asked, interrupting Kurt’s string of thoughts. Kurt turned to Blaine and blinked.   </p><p>“It looks… nice,” he said softly, letting Blaine guide the both of them to a free table by the window. “Do you come here a lot?” he asked, watching as Blaine made eye contact with the woman behind the counter and gave her a cheerful wave. </p><p>“I usually come here after my walks with Mercury,” Blaine said, fiddling with the corner of one of the menus, “it’s been a little while, though.”</p><p>Kurt’s mouth formed a silent ‘o’ of understanding as he took hold of the other menu, gazing at it critically. He was no stranger to Vietnamese food, but suddenly he felt mildly inferior sitting in front of Blaine. </p><p>“Would you mind if I ordered for us?” Blaine asked, leaning towards Kurt on his elbows and grinning. “Everything on the menu is fabulous, but I think I have a dish in mind that you’ll <em> love </em>.”</p><p>Normally, Kurt <em> hated </em> letting people order for him on dates; he’d always seen it as a pathetic show of arrogance. After all, who knew food better than Kurt? But something about the earnest smile on Blaine’s face made Kurt trust him, even amid his trepidation. </p><p>So, Kurt just nodded and watched as Blaine’s grin grew and he caught a waitress's attention, ordering for the both of them. </p><p>“So, um,” Kurt said once the waitress had left, briefly relishing in the way Blaine turned to him and gave him his full, undivided attention. <em> His eyes were so beautiful. </em>“How did you find this place?”</p><p>A bittersweet smile replaced the one already on Blaine’s lips as he sat back in his chair and looked out the window. “It’s kind of a sad story,” he said with a short, humourless laugh, “I wouldn’t wanna bring down the mood.”</p><p>“I would like to hear it,” Kurt said softly, pressing the nail of his index finger against his thumb, “that is, if you don’t mind telling me.” </p><p>Blaine bit his lower lip, eyes searching Kurt’s face (for what, he couldn’t tell) before he nodded, sitting forward in his seat. “Well, um, I wasn’t in a great place three years ago,” he said with a sigh, his thumb gently scratching the bottom of his chin, “I got into a really bad fight with my dad. He was mad at me for…” He shuffled uncomfortably, “well, the reason doesn’t matter, I guess. He was just mad at me, so I stormed out of his office and when I walked past this place, I smelled the most delightful aroma.” </p><p>The face on Blaine’s face shifted. A soft smile overtook his features as he looked towards the counter where Kurt could see an old Asian couple playfully bickering behind the cash register. “I just walked in and sat down. Linh and Tony kind of took me in and took me under their wings. I haven’t stopped coming back here since.”</p><p>Kurt smiled. “Is that the reason you became a chef?”</p><p>The soft smile on Blaine’s face faded and replaced itself with a confused frown. <em> Shit </em>. Kurt could feel sweat beginning to gather at the back of his knees. </p><p>“How did you know I was a chef?” Blaine asked. The inside of Kurt’s mouth felt uncomfortably dry.</p><p>“Um…” Kurt’s eyes frantically dashed down to his phone where he could see a new notification from Elliott on the screen. <em> Elliott! </em>“My friend showed me a copy of GQ a little while ago and you were on the cover.” Kurt forced a small, sheepish smile, hoping his panic wasn’t as obvious as it felt. “GQ’s top chefs?”</p><p>An embarrassed flush covered Blaine’s cheeks and Kurt allowed himself to let out a quiet sigh of relief. He wasn’t ready to tell Blaine about the review. Not yet.</p><p>“You saw that, huh?” Blaine asked, wrinkling his nose. “I didn’t wanna do it initially, but my boss thought it would be good publicity. They didn’t ask me <em> any </em> questions about my culinary background or what it was like to work at my restaurant, it felt like I was being interviewed for a tabloid.”</p><p>“Yeah, those questions weren’t exactly hard-hitting journalism,” Kurt scoffed, eyes flickering upwards just in time to catch Blaine’s inquisitive stare. </p><p>“Are you a journalist?” he asked, resting his chin on his palm.</p><p>“Um…” Kurt blanched, “I-I’m a writer… of sorts.”</p><p>Thankfully, like a gift from a God Kurt didn’t believe in, they were interrupted by their food arriving and a kind waitress dropping off their drinks and food. Kurt’s eyes strayed towards the glass cup with a metal filter sitting on top, fresh hot coffee dripping down into a small pool of condensed milk at the bottom of the glass. Beside their cups, the waitress put down two large glass cups filled with ice. </p><p>“Oh!” Kurt said, leaning down to get a closer look at the filter as the coffee dripped slowly into the condensed milk pool. “I’ve heard of this before, but I’ve never ordered one. It seemed like kind of a lot of hassle for a cup of coffee.”</p><p>Blaine grinned, placing his napkin over his lap. “Trust me, it’s worth it. We just have to wait for the coffee to drip then pour it over the ice. It’s delicious.” Then, he leaned forward, a cheeky smile on his face. “And if you don’t like it, I’ll buy you another coffee sometime else.” </p><p>Kurt tried not to blush, he really did, but as he looked down at the food Blaine had ordered for him, he felt a light heat rushing over his cheeks. <em> Damn it. </em> “So… what did you get me?” he asked, reaching for his knife and fork. The sandwich was beautifully, yet simply plated with the banh mi in the center of the plate, a small salad to the side, the colours of the dish not overshadowed by the colours on the plate. It looked promising, to be sure.</p><p>Blaine barely looked at his own plate, instead looking at Kurt as he tried to pry open one half of the baguette. “Try it and tell me what you taste.”</p><p>Kurt looked up at Blaine, fork and knife pristinely poised above the sandwich. “What?”</p><p>“I want you to take a bite and tell me what you think,” Blaine said, “it’s not poisoned, I promise.” There was an infuriatingly beautiful grin on his face. The kind that Kurt <em> knew </em> was trouble. </p><p>“You’re telling me how to eat now?” Kurt asked, raising an eyebrow. Nevertheless, he slowly put his knife and fork down beside his plate and picked up the sandwich with both hands. </p><p>Normally, when he tasted, it was a calculated and careful process. He would always examine the plating first. He’d always been a strong believer in eating with the <em> eyes </em> first (after all, who would want to eat an unappetising looking plate?), then the nose, <em> then </em> , last but not least, the mouth. And he never <em> ever </em> ate with his hands; but he’d already broken one rule when it came to Blaine. He supposed he could break another. </p><p>The crust of the baguette was firm under Kurt’s fingers - fresh, but not stale. It crackled pleasantly, the sound making Kurt’s ears tingle. A cacophony of smells reached his nose before he even opened his mouth; vinegary, sweet, savoury, all at once, sending a jolt that hit the back of his tongue.</p><p>Then, his eyes fluttered shut and he took a bite. Kurt wondered when was the last time he’d tasted something so good, and enjoyed it so <em> much </em>. He hadn’t realised he’d been moaning until he opened his eyes and met Blaine’s gaze, dark and heady.  </p><p>
  <em> Oh. </em>
</p><p>“Good?” Blaine asked, voice gravelly. </p><p>Kurt chewed slowly, putting the sandwich down and wiping his mouth carefully, sucking a bit of egg yolk off the tip of his finger. “Delicious,” he murmured, never dropping eye contact. </p><p>“What did you taste?” </p><p>Kurt sighed as he moved his tongue back and forth behind his teeth, trying to savour the tastes on his tongue. “Well, there’s definitely bacon in there,” he said with a chuckle, “and a poached egg that was a little <em> too </em>runny.”</p><p>“C’mon, you don’t like a runny yolk?” Blaine asked, eyes shining gleefully. </p><p>Kurt returned his look with a smile of his own. “I never said that,” he replied, “I also tasted something pickled. Carrot, maybe? And fresh cucumber. Also garlic and sriracha.” He smirked to himself at the look of surprise on Blaine’s face. “But that was just the first bite.”</p><p>Blaine chuckled. “You sound like you really know your stuff,” he said, picking up his own sandwich. </p><p>“Intimidated?” Kurt asked, taking another bite and letting out a soft hum as he experienced the same euphoria as before. He could feel Blaine’s eyes, searing hot against his skin. </p><p>“Not at all,” he heard Blaine say quietly, “just <em> very </em> impressed.” There was something else behind his words that made Kurt shiver. </p><p>The rest of their conversation after that was lighter, thankfully, as they finished their meals. The longer they spent talking, the more Kurt realised he didn’t really want this morning to end. There was no tiny voice in the back of his mind that asked him whether or not it was time to leave; no tiny annoyance grating at the corners of Kurt’s eyes. None of the usual red flags that Kurt had learned to pick up on on dates. </p><p>Blaine was perfect. Almost annoyingly so, because he just… <em> couldn’t be. </em> </p><p>“...Kurt?”</p><p>Kurt blinked, guiltily realising that he hadn’t been listening to him for the last minute or so. “Sorry, I… I got distracted,” he said, “what were you saying?”</p><p>Blaine just smiled at him kindly. “I said our coffees are ready.” </p><p>Kurt looked down at their now full glasses. The coffee had long since stopped dripping and Kurt watched as Blaine carefully removed the metal filter and placed it on the table, taking his provided teaspoon and stirring the condensed milk at the bottom until the coffee turned into the colour of warm caramel. Kurt followed suit, pouring the coffee over the ice just as Blaine told him before tentatively stirring and taking a sip. </p><p>The smooth, gently cooling temperature of the coffee hit Kurt first, quickly followed by an initial shot of creamy sweetness. Then, like a final cymbal at the end of a symphony, the bitterness of the coffee rose just at the back of Kurt’s tastebuds, hitting the inside of his cheeks <em> just </em>the way he liked it. </p><p>He wasn’t sure he would ever be able turn back to mochas ever again after this.</p><p>The coffee was strong, only diluted slightly by the melting ice and sweetened condensed milk. Kurt watched Blaine wrap his lips around his straw as he enjoyed his own, feeling delightfully warm despite the cool coffee passing through his mouth and down his throat. </p><p>Blaine’s eyes were dark, but still held the slightest of tints; the colour resembled the drink almost exactly. It was only the shock of the cold condensation against Kurt’s fingers that kept him grounded. </p><p>“How is it?” Blaine asked finally, pulling the straw away from his lips. There was a smirk on his face that Kurt just wanted to do unspeakable things to.</p><p>“Strong,” he said after a quick swallow, “sweet. Just the way I like it.” They drank their coffees in relative, comfortable silence, making quick little remarks that didn’t <em> really </em> matter. They both knew where this was going ( <em> and at 11:00am on a Sunday? How scandalous!). </em></p><p>Their drinks were finished in record time, empty glasses of ice left on the table to melt as Blaine quickly paid the check (not without protest from Kurt). ‘<em> You can pay next time’ </em>he’d said, an extremely frustrating smirk on his face as he’d handed the overly-amused waitress his credit card. </p><p>Kurt stood up and brushed the wrinkles off of his pants, slowly following Blaine out the door as he went to retrieve Mercury. His eyes may have strayed to the seat of Blaine’s pants just once or twice as they walked out, but he was only human after all. </p><p>“So,” Blaine said once he’d untied Mercury from his post, “did I do good? Did you have a good brunch?”</p><p>Kurt licked his lips, tasting the last sweet remnants of coffee on his lips. “You definitely did not disappoint, Blaine,” he said quietly, “but I was just wondering…”</p><p>Blaine raised his eyebrows. “Hm?”</p><p>“How does Mercury fare around cats?” Kurt asked lightly, looking down at the dog who was staring between them, looking happy and oblivious as can be. </p><p>Blaine wrinkled his nose in confusion for a moment before tightening his grip on Mercury’s leash. “He’s pretty shy, but he’s not aggressive. Why?” </p><p>“I was just thinking… if Mercury would like to make a new friend,” Kurt said, looking down at Mercury instead of his owner, “maybe you both could come over to my place for a while.” Then he finally looked up, smirking at Blaine. “For Mercury’s sake, of course.”</p><p>“Of course,” Blaine repeated quietly. His lips were just barely parted, and so, <em> so </em> pink. “I think Mercury would <em> love </em> to make a new friend.” </p><p>Kurt nodded, a quiet, satisfied hum escaping his lips. “Good,” he said, “I wouldn’t mind making a new friend either.”</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>Chapter Recipe: Vietnamese Iced Coffee</strong>
</p><ul>
<li>2 Tablespoons (30 ml) Sweetened Condensed Milk </li>
<li>1 1/2 Tablespoons (22.5 ml) <a href="https://amzn.to/2KoVRB8">coarse ground Coffee</a> (use a roast suitable for espresso, the grind the same as for a french press)</li>
<li>Hot Water (almost to a boil)</li>
<li>Ice</li>
<li><a href="https://amzn.to/2rHlfvn">Vietnamese Coffee Filter</a></li>
</ul><p>Pour the sweetened condensed milk into an 8-10 oz glass.</p><p>Remove the top screen from the coffee filter. Put the ground coffee in the filter, screw screen back on, compacting the grounds. Place the filter on the glass with the sweetened condensed milk. Pour just enough hot water to cover the grounds and let sit for 30 seconds.</p><p>Loosen the filter screen screw at least 2 full rotations. Pour hot water to the top of the filter, cover and let sit until water has gone all the way through the filter (should be about 5 minutes at a rate of 3-4 drips per second. If it’s faster, the coffee’s grind is too coarse. If slower, the coffee's grind is too fine.)</p><p>When water has passed through the filter, remove the filter from the glass. Stir coffee and sweetened condensed milk together. Add ice and enjoy.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Hawaiian Pizza</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>people who don't like pineapple on pizza are cowards and blaine agrees with me</p><p>i hope u guys enjoy chapter 5!!!! </p><p>i keep forgetting to plug my socials lmao. if u wanna follow me i'm @byebyeblainey on both twitter and tumblr!! &lt;3 comments and kudos are always appreciated! thank u so much for the love i've been receiving! BIG HEARTS even tho i don't reply to them, every time i get an email notification it makes my heart go WEE </p><p>- Brit xx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Blaine had never been particularly religious. His parents hadn’t been either, despite his father’s catholic upbringing; but the way Kurt’s lips felt kissing his neck made Blaine briefly consider the existence of a deity up in heaven anyway, smiling down on them both. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let out a soft moan, throwing his head back further against the couch cushions as Kurt’s weight pressed down on every inch of his body, grounding him, and yet still sending him further into space. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>smelled</span>
  </em>
  <span> phenomenal too; a mixture of vanilla and something woodsier filling Blaine’s nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, God,” Blaine groaned, breathing out sharply as Kurt’s lips traversed upward towards his earlobe. He felt a puff of breath escape Kurt’s mouth, warm against his skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s actually ‘Kurt’, but I think you knew that,” he replied cheekily, biting down on Blaine’s earlobe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine laughed quietly, hands skimming up and down the sides of Kurt’s waist. “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt rolled his eyes and pulled away from Blaine’s ear. “Less talking, more kissing, okay?” he murmured before sealing his lips over Blaine’s, one hand coming up to cup his chin and stroke his cheekbone lightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t take long for Blaine to get back into the swing of making out, his hands slowly moving across Kurt’s waist until they met at the small of his back. Kurt’s lips tasted faintly of coffee and sugar in the most enticing way. Blaine never wanted to forget what his lips tasted like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could feel an uncomfortable tightness growing in his jeans as Kurt’s hand steadily moved downward until it was resting on his stomach. He shuffled, trying to place some moderate distance between Kurt’s hips and his own, though it was proving to be incredibly difficult with Kurt on top of him, their legs tangled together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine knew where this was bound to end up, but he wasn’t sure that’s where he wanted this to go. He wanted to have sex with Kurt, of course he did, but he also wanted… more. Brunch that morning had given Blaine a taste of something he didn’t know he’d been craving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” Blaine said quietly, reluctantly tearing his lips away from Kurt’s, chuckling when he protested with a soft, frustrated noise. “Kurt…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt sighed and lifted himself up so he could properly look into Blaine’s eyes without crossing his eyes. “I was kind of enjoying myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So was I, but, I just…” he looked over at where Mercury was curled up in the corner under a beam of sun coming from the window, dozing away. Diva, Kurt’s cat, was curled up with him, almost comically small compared to Mercury’s frame. “What time is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt furrowed his eyebrows but reached over to grab his phone off of the coffee table nevertheless.  He cleared his throat and wiped at his lips sheepishly, turning his phone on to check the time. “It’s 1:24,” he said, placing his phone back on the table and turning to Blaine. He was sitting up on Blaine’s lap now, his legs bracketing his hips in a way that made his mind spin. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine groaned quietly, lifting his hand to gently rub at his forehead. “I have to go,” he said, sitting up and leaning back on his hands. “I have to drop Mercury off at home and shower before getting ready for work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Work?” Kurt asked. His voice was light, but there was an underlying shakiness that Blaine couldn’t read. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I um… I’m the chef de cuisine at the new Italian restaurant on Hudson street.” A prickle of annoyance rang at the back of his brain when he thought of what exactly was waiting for him at his job. “I’m not sure if you’ve been. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stella d’Oro</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Kurt replied, clearing his throat as he fumbled to get off of Blaine’s lap. Blaine instantly missed the pressure. “I-I… think I’ve walked past there once or twice. Maybe.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine nodded and swung his legs down to the ground, standing up himself. “Uh…” There was a sudden awkward energy surrounding the both of them; Blaine wondered where their easy banter had gone. “Trust me, though, I’d much rather stay here and um… hang out with you some more.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt smiled and chuckled softly, but it didn’t look 100% genuine. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Had he offended him somehow? </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Well, when duty calls, I suppose,” he replied quietly, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his obscenely tight jeans. “Thanks for brunch.” He hesitated, a small, sheepish smile growing on his pink, kiss-swollen lips. “I’ll have to return the favour sometime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he were a cartoon character, Blaine was sure he’d have rocketed through the ceiling of Kurt’s apartment from sheer elation. “Of course!” he said, perhaps too eagerly, “I mean… it was my pleasure.” Silence hung between them for a moment before Blaine cleared his throat and took a small step towards Kurt, who looked up at the quiet sound. “Um… I was a little preoccupied the first time we met, but, I was wondering…” he trailed off. Suddenly, Blaine felt all of 16-years-old, asking the cute older boy at the Gap if he’d like to go out for coffee. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How misguided he’d been. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But Kurt looked at him with that kind, earnest look on his face that made Blaine melt. His shoulders still held that same stiffness from before, but his eyes… his eyes were just </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>inviting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could I get your number?” Blaine managed to ask eventually, “I’d really like to see you again, Kurt.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To Blaine’s delight, Kurt smiled and reached for his phone, opening his contacts before handing the phone to him. Blaine typed his number into Kurt’s phone with shaky fingers, hoping the grin on his face didn’t look manic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll text you,” was all Kurt said before he reached over and did up one of the buttons on Blaine’s shirt that had </span>
  <em>
    <span>mysteriously</span>
  </em>
  <span> come undone. “Don’t be late for work.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine nodded and handed the phone back to Kurt, still unable to wipe the smile off his face as he brushed past Kurt to wake Mercury up. It seemed almost a shame to separate Diva and Mercury. They were curled up so perfectly together, and the matching colours of their fur entertained Blaine to no end, but he had to get home so he could drag himself to the restaurant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel had called him late last night and requested (demanded) that he come in early so they could have a ‘discussion’ about the restaurant and the bad review’s repurcussions. That only gave Blaine an hour and a half to drop Mercury off, shower, and grab a quick bite before his meeting. Thankfully the coffee he’d had at brunch was still working in full force.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He crouched down in front of Mercury and stroked his ears gently, watching as he sleepily lifted his head and looked around him, blinking his eyes open.“It’s time to go home, bud,” Blaine whispered, scratching the spot underneath his chin he knew Mercury loved, “it’s dinner time, and dad needs to go to work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Mercury didn’t stand and follow like he normally would’ve. He did something completely unusual. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>growled.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine reared his head back in shock as Mercury curled himself tighter around Diva who’d just begun to wake up herself, yawning with a quiet squeak. Mercury dipped his head until his nose was pressed gently against the top of the small cat’s head, giving her the lightest of licks. The sight was adorable, and entirely baffling to Blaine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mercury,” Blaine said, standing up slowly. He tried to make his voice firm. He would </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> lose a dominance battle to a dog, especially not in front of Kurt. “Come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard a quiet giggle coming from the left and he turned, watching as Kurt tried and failed to hide his laughter behind his hand. Blaine sighed, chuckling quietly as he watched Mercury reluctantly stand up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least he made a friend,” Kurt said softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine hummed as Mercury walked towards him slowly and bumped his head gently against his thigh, almost in apology. He chuckled and ruffled his fur before clipping his leash back on. “It’s okay, buddy.” He looked up at Kurt who’d picked up Diva and was holding her in his arms, stroking her fur smoothly. “If Kurt agrees, you can come over and visit Diva another time… right, Kurt?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt raised an eyebrow slowly, smirking as he stroked Diva from her head down to the base of her tail. He looked </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost</span>
  </em>
  <span> villainous. “We’ll see,” he said cheekily, “I’m sure Diva could spare an hour or two to play with a new friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine gave Kurt one last look before grabbing the rest of his things and leading Mercury out of the apartment, not without shooting Kurt another quick wave. As soon as Kurt’s apartment door shut behind them and they were left alone in the apartment complex hallway, Blaine let out a breath and grinned so wide that his cheeks ached. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go home, Merc.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Once the door had shut, Kurt gently set Diva down before flopping back onto his couch unceremoniously. He felt tired and invigorated all at once, in a way that didn’t make sense. His arms and hands were shaking with energy, but his legs were weak and wobbly; and all from a little light making out -- not even any heavy petting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Diva walked up to him and nuzzled her face against Kurt’s shin, mewling and sniffing at him. Kurt sighed and picked her up, placing her on his lap, staring into her inquisitive, judgemental eyes. “Why did I lie to him?” he mumbled quietly, more to himself than to his furry companion. Diva couldn’t have cared less.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Diva meowed and walked off, supposedly bored by the conversation. Some questions were just too complicated for cats to comprehend, he supposed. Kurt sighed and watched her go before reaching for his phone and staring at the new contact entry. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Blaine Anderson</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>When Blaine got home that night, he felt the tiredness soak into his bones. It had been a busy night, and Rachel’s overbearance hadn’t helped any. All night, she’d watched them cook and prepare and run around like headless chickens, only getting in the way of Blaine’s otherwise smoothly running kitchen. The weight of her eyes on him and his staff made Blaine feel like he’d been carrying a backpack full of rocks for his entire shift. He pulled his shoes off haphazardly and walked over to the couch, flopping onto it clumsily. He let out a loud, pained groan as his spine protested the sudden, harsh movement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hadn’t been like this when Rachel first hired him. She’d hired him first out of all of their employees, had even let him hire Wes as his second in command. They were a </span>
  <em>
    <span>team</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And then Jeremy had left, and Blaine wondered if a part of himself left with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>damn review </span>
  </em>
  <span>had happened</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
  <span> In less than 700 words, whoever this </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pavarotti</span>
  </em>
  <span> person was had managed to dig deep into every insecurity he’d tried for </span>
  <em>
    <span>years</span>
  </em>
  <span> to forget about and undo any stability </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stella</span>
  </em>
  <span> had ever had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t want to resent Pavarotti. If anything, Blaine just wanted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk</span>
  </em>
  <span> to him, ask him what he meant by passionless and lacking personality. Blaine didn’t have much, but he had passion in droves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it had gotten lost over the two short years he’d been working at </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stella</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but it was still there, burning like a stove on its lowest setting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed heavily and grabbed his laptop, turning until he was lying stretched out on the couch, laptop on his belly. Shamefully, he typed in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> familiar website address into his browser and waited as it loaded, idly rubbing his chest with his free hand as he watched the blank screen. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dominos.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine didn’t like to indulge in take out very often. It usually wasn’t worth it when he could cook something better himself; but he was just so damn </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired </span>
  </em>
  <span>after tonight’s Rachel-debacle. He put in his regular order (a large Hawaiian pizza, something Wes and David liked to continuously shame him for) and sent it off to be made, watching the pizza tracker as a little animation of a pizza chef danced. He huffed out a humourless chuckle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wonder what Pavarotti would say if he could see me now,” Blaine mumbled to no one in particular, “ordering </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dominos</span>
  </em>
  <span> and feeling completely sorry for myself.” He hesitated for a moment before sitting up, leaning his back against the couch arm rest and propping his laptop up against his legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opened a new tab and bit his lip, thumb tapping the spacebar restlessly before he began typing: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pavarotti New York Times</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What came up was a page on the New York Times website. Blaine clicked on it, narrowing his eyes. “No picture, huh?” he remarked idly as he read Pavarotti’s biography. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Pavarotti has served as a restaurant critic for The New York Times since 2022. In recent years, he has become the most prolific food critic among all five boroughs of New York city, reviewing restaurants big and small, from the finest of dining experiences to your local taco truck or hotdog stand. For Pavarotti, no cuisine is safe from his ruthlessly honest and authentic critiques.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine’s reading was interrupted by the doorbell, the loud and unexpected sound, sending his heart racing, almost as if he’d been caught looking at something he wasn’t supposed to be looking at. He carefully slid his laptop off his lap and walked to the door, smiling pleasantly at the pizza delivery person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A minute later, with a slice of pizza in hand and his laptop in the other, he continued his scrolling, eyes skimming across different article titles. Whoever this Pavarotti person was, they certainly liked their Broadway references and plays on words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It surprised Blaine that there were no social media accounts listed. It appeared as though Pavarotti was something akin to a ghost, only existing within the realms of the New York Times website. It made him wonder, just a little bit, </span>
  <em>
    <span>who</span>
  </em>
  <span> this person was and why they’d chosen to do what they do. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Did they find some kind of twisted pleasure in insulting the livelihoods of innocent people? </span>
  </em>
  <span>A different, more bitter side of Blaine asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a feeble attempt at stopping the ugly side of his mind from taking over, Blaine clicked on a random article and placed his pizza back in the box, wiping at his greasy hands with a paper towel as he read the article title, feeling instantly guilty when he huffed out a laugh. Cruel as he was, this Pavarotti person was… actually quite funny. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, perhaps </span>
  <em>
    <span>cruel</span>
  </em>
  <span> was an exaggeration. He’d been harsh and extremely… fastidious, but his criticisms had been valid, however hard to swallow. Blaine’s ego had been bruised more than anything else. But the more he read, the more interested he became. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Pierrot is a restaurant so strange and disturbing, and unlike any other I’ve been to before with it’s waitresses and waiters dressed to the nines in cirque-du-soleil inspired costumes,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Pavarotti wrote in one of his reviews, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>if you’re planning a visit, I would suggest to wear your finest clown shoes and rainbow wigs, because the food and decor alike will surely leave a funny taste in your mouth.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine chuckled as he clicked back to Pavarotti’s main page. Suddenly, all good humour left him when he scrolled further and found the review for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stella</span>
  </em>
  <span>, sitting in front of him plain as day, almost taunting him. He quickly closed both the tab and his laptop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed and stood up, stretching out his back and looking at his half empty pizza box. He rubbed his stomach in shame, closing the box and shoving it into his refrigerator, out of sight out of mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All the while, he’d somehow failed to notice that his phone had been buzzing incrementally from where it was sitting on his coffee table. Blaine hovered over it, waiting for his notifications to show. The moment he read the first few, he felt himself getting lightheaded with excitement </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From 212-329-5630, 10:38pm:</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>
      <br/>
    </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>Hey!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From 212-329-5630, 10:38pm:</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>
      <br/>
    </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>It’s Kurt. I just wanted to text you and tell you I had a really great time this morning. I’m only sorry it got cut short because you had to go.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From 212-329-5630, 10:38pm:</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>
      <br/>
    </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>If you’re interested, maybe we could schedule a repeat?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine grinned as he read the text messages, feeling the shame and discomfort from earlier slowly fade as he saved Kurt’s number in his phone and typed out a quick reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Blaine Anderson, 10:51pm:</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>
      <br/>
    </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>I would be very interested</span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <a href="https://www.jessicagavin.com/hawaiian-pizza/">
    <b>Chapter Recipe: Hawaiian Pizza</b>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <b>For the dough</b>
</p><ul>
<li><span>1 ¾ to 2 ¼ cups all-purpose flour</span></li>
<li><span>1 envelope Fleischmann’s® RapidRise® Yeast</span></li>
<li><span>1 ½ teaspoons sugar</span></li>
<li><span>¾ teaspoon salt</span></li>
<li><span>2/3 cup very warm water 120° to 130°F</span></li>
<li><span>3 tablespoons olive oiL</span></li>
</ul><p>
  <b>For the toppings</b>
</p><ul>
<li><span>½ to 1 cup pizza sauce</span></li>
<li><span>2 cups shredded mozzarella cheese</span></li>
<li><span>6 ounces Canadian bacon or ham diced</span></li>
<li><span>4 strips bacon cooked and crumbled</span></li>
<li><span>1 8-ounce can pineapple, drained and diced</span></li>
</ul><p>
  <span>Preheat oven to 450°F.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whisk together 1 cup flour, yeast, sugar and salt in a large bowl. Add oil to the water and pour into dry ingredients. Stir until well blended, about 1 minute. Gradually add enough remaining flour to make a soft dough. Dough should form a ball and will be slightly sticky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knead dough on a floured surface, adding additional flour if necessary, until smooth and elastic, about 4 minutes. Cover and rest the dough for 10 minutes.</span>
  <span>Stretch and pat dough with floured hands to fill greased 12-inch pizza pan or baking sheet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spread with pizza sauce. Top with cheese. Spread Canadian bacon, bacon, and pineapple over the top.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bake on lowest oven rack for 12 to 15 minutes, until cheese is bubbly and crust is browned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cool just a minute or so before slicing and serving.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Parmigiana di Melanzane</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>oh snap the plot is thickening......just like sauce after u reduce it for like 30 minutes &lt;3 enjoy the chapter everyone!!</p><p>if anyone's interested in following me i'm @byebyeblainey on twitter and tumblr!! comments and kudos are always appreciated andmy ask box is also always open!!</p><p>hope y'all are staying well and safe &lt;3</p><p>- Brit xx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So, are you gonna tell him?” </p><p>Kurt sighed heavily, his fork halfway between his plate and his lips. He looked at his plate longingly as he felt Elliott’s inquisitive eyes staring him down. “I don’t know, El,” he said, putting his fork down and rubbing at his forehead. “I don’t usually have the career chat until date number 3.”</p><p>Elliott pursed his lips. “But this isn’t just a career chat,” he replied, “it’s a <em> ‘I work for the New York Times and also I gave your restaurant a two-star review’ </em> chat.” </p><p>Kurt frowned as he tore up a piece of naan into tiny, bite sized pieces. “I know what kind of chat it is, I just don’t wanna tell him until I’m ready.” He dipped a shred of naan into his curry and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing quickly as he tried to evade Elliott’s judgemental glare. </p><p>“And when will you be ready, Kurt?” he asked, stealing a piece of naan off of Kurt’s plate. “You know just as well as I do that relationships move fast.”</p><p>“I… it’s not a relationship!” he exclaimed, slapping Elliott’s hand away when he moved in to take another piece of bread. “It’s just a date. We hooked up and now we’re… hanging out. We aren’t dating.” Kurt shuddered. <em> Dating </em>. The word was just so… juvenile.</p><p>Elliott hummed, unconvinced. “Okay,” he said slowly, picking up his glass and stirring what was left of his mango lassi around with his straw. “What did you have in mind for your ‘hang out’ on Wednesday night, then?” </p><p>“I was gonna invite him over and cook for him,” Kurt said, looking up from his plate. The look of incredulity Elliott gave him made his spine stiffen. “What? You don’t think it’s a good idea?”</p><p>“I think it’s a great idea,” he said, sipping his drink slowly before blinking at Kurt innocently. “I just think that cooking for someone is a little… <em> intimate </em>if you’re just ‘hanging out’, isn’t it?”</p><p>All the confidence in Kurt’s body sunk to his feet as soon as those words left Elliott’s lips, though a part of him wanted to rush to his own defence. “I didn’t invite you to lunch so you could criticise my life choices,” he said, attempting to sound defiant. It came out more on the petulant side. </p><p>Elliott chuckled, warm and apologetic as he squeezed Kurt’s hand. “I’m sorry, Kurt, I just… I don’t want you to get hurt,” he said softly. “It sounds like you <em> actually </em>like Blaine.” </p><p>Kurt clenched and unclenched his jaw as he looked down at his plate. He knew Elliott meant well; he always did. It just wasn’t particularly what he wanted to hear right now.</p><p>“Look,” Elliott said then, putting his glass down and leaning toward Kurt on his elbows. “My band and I are performing at <em> The Banshee </em> on Wednesday. Why don’t you invite your man to come watch after you wine and dine him?”</p><p>“Why would I do that?” Kurt asked, a small smile beginning to perk up at the sides of his lips. </p><p>Elliott smiled back. “Because I wanna meet him,” he said cheekily, “and hanging out in a public group setting might relieve some of the pressure.” </p><p>It wasn’t a bad idea, although the idea of Elliott meeting Blaine this early on made Kurt fear for his reputation. “Okay. I’ll message him when I’m back at the office,” he said slowly, already wondering about how he was going to draft out this text to Blaine. He looked up from his plate as the waitress came over with their bill, placing his credit card on the leather wallet before giving Elliott a small smile. “Thanks.”</p><p>“What for?” Elliott asked, though he returned Kurt’s smile with one of his own. </p><p>Kurt shrugged. “Talking to me? Letting me talk to you?” he fiddled with his wallet as he put it back in his back pocket. “I… you know I’m not the best at this relationship stuff.”</p><p>Elliott laughed, patting Kurt’s hand. “As long as you keep buying me lunch, we can talk about whatever you want.” </p><p>Kurt rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t fight the fond affection in his heart as they both got up and left the restaurant. He would tell Blaine about the review on Wednesday night. They would laugh off the situation as an unlikely, yet still uncanny, coincidence and happily move on. They’d go to Elliott’s show and all would be forgotten.</p><p>Or at least, that’s what Kurt so desperately <em> hoped </em> would happen.</p><hr/><p>They had a date planned.</p><p>A real, actual, fully-fledged <em> date! </em> Not just another accidental run-in or a drunken hook up, a real date. Blaine couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this excited. They planned to have their date on Wednesday night, the only day of the week when <em> Stella </em> was blissfully closed. </p><p>It was only Tuesday, and yet Blaine <em> still </em> felt anticipation running through his veins as he practically hopped around the kitchen, ignoring the strange looks he was receiving from coworkers and friends alike. </p><p>He was midway through plating up another one of Rachel’s ridiculous, vegan menu additions when one of the waiters opened the kitchen door and poked his head in sheepishly. Blaine looked up and smiled. “Evening, Roderick.”</p><p>Roderick nodded his head and stepped through the door, keeping it open with one hand. “Um… one of the customers wants to give their compliments to the chef.”</p><p>Blaine raised his eyebrows as he grabbed a clean towel from over his shoulder and wiped a bit of sauce from the edges of the plate. “Tell them the chef says ‘thank you’,” he replied, picking up the plate and placing it on the counter to be served. “I need someone to run this dish to table 3, please!” </p><p>“The customer said he wants to <em> talk </em> to the chef,” Roderick replied. Blaine sighed quietly.</p><p>“Can you send Rachel? I’m a little busy.” Blaine could feel Wes watching the two of them. </p><p>An uncomfortable look crossed Roderick’s face as he looked out into the front of house before turning back to Blaine. “He told me he <em> really </em> wanted to speak with you,” he said, “he isn’t going to leave until he does, and he paid his cheque over an hour ago.” </p><p>“Dude, just go,” Wes said, walking up to Blaine’s side and nudging his shoulder, “I can handle the kitchen for a couple minutes while you deal with a customer.” </p><p>Blaine sighed, wiping his forehead with his towel before placing it on the counter. He turned to Roderick and gave him a pained smile. “Two minutes, okay? Then I have to be back in the kitchen.”</p><p>Roderick nodded and opened the door for Blaine before walking a few paces in front of him. Blaine followed behind him dutifully, trying to keep a polite smile on his face as he looked around the dining room at the various diners. There weren’t as many customers as he’d have <em> liked </em> to see; it was certainly a change from when they first opened. </p><p>He was so preoccupied thinking about the number of covers they’d served that night, that he barely registered Roderick talking to the customer that he’d guided him to. He could vaguely hear his voice in the background as he stepped forward and turned his focus to… </p><p>
  <em> Oh, God.  </em>
</p><p>“Hi, Blaine.”</p><p>A smooth, familiar voice soaked Blaine’s ears like thick, hot tar, covering every inch of his skin with just two words. His eyes slowly scanned the man in front of him, taking in every minor detail and difference. He could feel his heart beating uncomfortably loud in his chest.</p><p>Because sitting at a lone table right in front of Blaine was Jeremy, looking as devastatingly handsome and infuriating as he had the last time they’d seen each other the night Jeremy had packed his bags and left Blaine’s apartment for good. His hands shook with anger as he clenched them into tight fists. He didn’t even notice Roderick leave the moment Jeremy spoke.</p><p>“What are you doing here?” Blaine asked, keeping his voice carefully low. He couldn’t allow himself to go ballistic the way he absolutely wanted to, but if looks could kill, Jeremy would’ve been 6-feet under minutes ago. </p><p>Jeremy leaned forward on his elbows. “Interesting menu options tonight,” he said, taking his napkin off of his lap and folding it into quarters. “Trying to appeal to the vegan hipster crowd, are we?”</p><p>Blaine scoffed. “I asked you a question, Jeremy,” he said, “what do you want?”</p><p>For a second, Blaine wondered if the soft look on Jeremy’s face was genuine. “Sit down, won’t you, Blaine?” he asked, gesturing towards the empty chair across from him, “I just wanna talk.”</p><p>“I’d rather not,” Blaine replied, though he gripped the back of the chair so tightly it was a wonder the wood didn’t crack and splinter. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”</p><p>“Because <em> everything </em> has to be about what you have to say, right?” Jeremy asked, quirking one eyebrow up. Blaine grit his teeth but didn’t respond, instead choosing to picture the many instruments he had in the kitchen that he could use to dismantle Jeremy’s smug face. “I read that review, the one in the New York Times. Ouch.”</p><p>“Is that why you came? To rub my failure in my face?” Blaine asked. He hoped Jeremy couldn’t hear the way his voice was shaking with anger. Jeremy leaned back in his chair, eyes searching Blaine’s face. </p><p>“No. Sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry at all. “I came because I left some stuff at your place that I wanna pick up.”</p><p>Blaine furrowed his eyebrows. “What did you leave?” </p><p>“I left my Dad’s watch and a couple of journals,” he said with a shrug, fiddling with the edge of his sleeve. “I’d really like them back.” </p><p>“You came to my restaurant to tell me you left a<em> watch </em> at my apartment?” Blaine asked, “also, it’s been months since you… why are you asking now?”</p><p>Jeremy sighed. “I couldn’t exactly call or text you, could I? You have me blocked on everything, it would’ve taken a private investigator and connections to the CIA to get in contact with you.” He trailed off, staring off uncomfortably into the distance. “Plus, I’m um… I might be moving back to San Antonio in a few weeks and I’d really like to get my stuff back.” </p><p>Part of Blaine wanted to ask why Jeremy was moving… but the other, louder part told him he <em> really </em> didn’t care. “Okay,” he said stiffly, loosening his grip on the chair. “When do you wanna get your stuff?” </p><p>Jeremy pulled out his phone and unlocked it, tapping it a few times as Blaine watched, slowly rolling his eyes. The silence between them was thick and incredibly uncomfortable. “Tomorrow night,” he said, looking up from his phone. “That’s the only day this week I’m free.”</p><p>With his jaw clenched, Blaine nodded stiffly, letting go of the chair. “Fine.” </p><p>He was just about to turn and walk back to the kitchen when Jeremy’s voice one last time. “By the way, Blaine,” he said, “my eggplant  was undercooked.”</p><p>Before he allowed himself to launch himself at Jeremy and <em> strangle him </em>, Blaine turned on his heel and walked through the dining room, trying his best to keep his composure. He roughly pushed open the kitchen door, tension coating every bone in his body as the familiar cacophony filled his ears once again. </p><p>His eyes settled on Wes who was flitting around the kitchen expertly, a smile on his face as he oversaw the rest of Blaine’s staff. He was a natural. Blaine would’ve felt proud if he weren’t so <em> angry </em>. </p><p>Quietly, he approached Wes and took hold of his elbow, waiting until he turned around. </p><p>“Hey! You were gone for longer than--” </p><p>“Do you know if the cooler is soundproof?” Blaine interrupted. Wes furrowed his eyebrows and scratched at his temple. </p><p>“Um… I think so…” he said slowly, “why?”</p><p>“I’ll explain later,” was all Blaine said before he walked past Wes and into the walk-in cooler, closing the door tightly behind him.</p><p>Once he was surrounded by only fruits and vegetables and the sound of the cold air coming from the vents, he buried his face in his hands and let out a frustrated yell.</p><p>Blaine sighed once he was done, leaning against one of the metal banisters and sliding down slowly until he was sitting on the floor, suddenly tired beyond all comprehension. He leaned his head back to rest against the banister and closed his eyes, focusing on the way his heart was beating hard in his chest. </p><p>He heard the cooler door open and he opened his eyes, seeing Wes standing at the doorway, a curious smile on his face. Blaine didn’t get up. “Did the others hear me?” </p><p>Wes shrugged as he shut the door behind him. “I just turned the radio up,” he replied, walking towards Blaine and giving him a playful kick. “What’s going on?”</p><p>Every moment from the past few minutes came rushing back to Blaine in droves as he shut his eyes once again, trying to get the image of Jeremy’s face out of his mind. “Jeremy wanted to talk to me,” he said, voice strained. “He said he forgot some stuff at my place and he wants to come over and get it.”</p><p>Wes was quiet for a moment. Then, Blaine heard the quiet rustling of fabric. He opened his eyes and saw Wes slumping down next to him, hugging his knees to his chest as he sat next to Blaine. “Yeah?”</p><p>Blaine nodded, rubbing his face slowly. “Yeah,” he muttered, hesitating before he continued. “He’s moving back to San Antonio.”</p><p>“Good riddance.”</p><p>Blaine opened his eyes and looked over at Wes, raising his eyebrows. “What?” </p><p>“Good riddance,” Wes repeated with a shrug, “he’s a prick. The further away from New York he goes, the better it’ll be for everyone.” </p><p>A laugh of disbelief left Blaine’s lips before he could control it. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Blaine said lightly, rubbing his forehead. “I just… it was hard seeing him again after… you know.” Wes nodded and wrapped an arm around Blaine’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly. </p><p>“I get it,” he said quietly, “but he’s leaving. And you’re moving on, right? You even managed to score yourself a date.” </p><p>The thought of Kurt crossed Blaine’s mind and he smiled, the same excitement he’d been feeling earlier in the evening finally coming back. “Yeah, I did…” Blaine trailed off then, eyes widening as he slowly remembered. </p><p>His date. Wednesday night. “Shit.”</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>
    <a href="https://www.insidetherustickitchen.com/parmigiana-di-melanzane-aubergine-parmigana/">Chapter Recipe: Parmigiana Di Melanzane</a>
  </strong>
</p><ul>
<li>2 large aubergines/eggplant around (700g/ 1.5 lbs)</li>
<li>1.5 lbs pureed tomatoes (passata) chunky texture (700g)</li>
<li>1 white onion</li>
<li>Sma bunch of basil</li>
<li>8.8 oz mozzarella cheese , cut into cubes (250g)</li>
<li>3/4 cup parmesan cheese , freshly grated (70g)</li>
<li>1/2 tbsp olive oil</li>
<li>Flour for dusting</li>
<li>Sunflower oil for frying (around 1/2 cup/125ml)</li>
<li>Salt and pepper to season</li>
</ul><p>Thinly slice the eggplant/aubergines then place them in a colander. Sprinkle them lightly with salt and set them aside for 1 hour. This drains off any excess water and helps with frying.</p><p>Meanwhile, make the simple tomato sauce. Finely chop 1 onion and sauté in a pan with the olive oil until translucent and soft but not browned. Add the tomato passata (pureed tomatoes) and a small bunch of basil torn with your hands. Add a pinch of salt and pepper, stir then let it simmer gently for 10-15 minutes. Set aside.</p><p>Rinse the eggplant slices under cold water and pat them dry with a kitchen towel or paper. Lightly dust them with flour, shaking off any excess then fry them in sunflower oil for a few seconds each side, drain on kitchen paper to remove any excess oil.</p><p>Preheat the oven to 180°C/350F/gas mark 4. I used an 11x8 inch oval dish but a rectangle or square dish around the same size will work too e.g 10x8 inch.</p><p>Spoon a small amount of tomato sauce into the bottom of a baking dish and spread it around, this will stop the eggplant from sticking. Next add one layer of eggplant to the dish followed by a sprinkling of parmesan cheese, cubes of mozzarella, a sprinkling of pepper and couple spoons of tomato sauce (save 1/3 of the sauce for the final layer). Continue with the next layer until you have one top layer left.</p><p>For the top layer, spoon over the remaining tomato sauce and top with parmesan and mozzarella. Cover loosely with foil and bake for 20 minutes, remove the foil and bake for another 20 minutes until nice and golden and bubbling on top. Let it rest for 5 minutes before serving.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Saffron and Seafood Risotto</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ooo i wonder what will happen with the date after what happened last chapter!!! its not like i wrote the story or anything and know exactly whats gonna happen lmao</p><p>enjoy the chapter!! thanks for all the comments that got excited that Kurt was gonna be cooking for blaine hehe &lt;3</p><p>socials: @byebyeblainey on tumblr/twitter</p><p>comments and kudos are always appreciated!!!</p><p>- Brit xx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>On Wednesday morning, Blaine woke up, already dreading the evening. What was supposed to be an exciting day filled with potential and </span>
  <em>
    <span>romance</span>
  </em>
  <span> had been turned completely on its head by Jeremy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed and rolled onto his side, grabbing his phone from his night stand and checking his notifications, perking up when he saw a few messages from Kurt. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Kurt Hummel, 3:02am:</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>
      <br/>
    </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>Question: Do you have any food allergies? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Kurt Hummel, 3:02am:</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>
      <br/>
    </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>I probably should’ve asked before I went grocery shopping.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine chuckled and rubbed his eyes sleepily before slowly typing out a response.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Blaine Anderson, 9:43am:</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>
      <br/>
    </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>You were up late</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Blaine Anderson, 9:43am:</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>
      <br/>
    </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>And no, no food allergies :)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He bit his lip as his fingers hovered over the keys. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Blaine Anderson, 9:44am:</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>
      <br/>
    </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>Can’t wait to see you tonight</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt’s reply was almost instantaneous.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Kurt Hummel, 9:44am:</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>
      <br/>
    </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>:)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t much, but it almost scared Blaine how a simple emoticon could make his heart soar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reluctantly, he got out of bed and trudged to the bathroom, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He heard the click of Mercury’s nails against the wood before he felt the nudge of a cold nose against his calf. “Morning, Bud,” he said quietly, pulling his toothbrush out of the medicine cabinet as his mind started to race. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jeremy had said he would be over at 7pm to pick up his things and he’d told Kurt he would be at his apartment by 8. The timing was a little bit too close for comfort, but Blaine was forced to make do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hours crept past. Blaine worked out, took Mercury for a walk, made himself a meagre lunch, read; he did everything he could to keep his mind off of the inevitable discomfort that was hurtling towards him in just a matter of moments, but to no avail. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon enough, it was 7pm and Blaine was sitting on his couch, leg bouncing up and down as he waited for Jeremy. Mercury walked over to him and lay by his feet, almost as if he could sense and was trying to ease Blaine’s tension. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The more minutes ticked by, the more anxious Blaine got. He checked the time and cursed. It was almost 7:30 and still, no sign from Jeremy. He was supposed to be leaving for his date by now. Blaine rubbed his forehead as he pulled up his text thread with Kurt, typing out a reluctant message.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Blaine Anderson, 7:30pm:</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>
      <br/>
    </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>Hey, I’m so sorry to do this. I’m going to be a bit later than anticipated. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Blaine Anderson, 7:30pm:</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>
      <br/>
    </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll explain when I get there, but do you mind pushing our meeting back a bit? Maybe to 8:30?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine nibbled on the skin around his thumb as he watched the typing bubble pop up and disappear again and again. It felt like almost an eternity before Kurt </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally </span>
  </em>
  <span>replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Kurt Hummel, 7:31pm:</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>
      <br/>
    </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>Of course. Is everything okay?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Blaine could respond, he heard his doorbell go off. He cursed again and pocketed his phone, stomping to the door and flinging it open. Jeremy was on the other side, leaning against the door jamb with a smirk on his face that Blaine wanted to punch off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>late</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he said, not even bothering to hide the anger he was feeling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jeremy shrugged. “Sorry, the train broke down.” He sauntered into the house -- without taking his shoes off, Blaine noted bitterly. Mercury, who was still laying in the same spot as before, looked up and let out a loud bark and a snarl before scrambling to hide under the dining table. Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Nice to see you too, Mercury.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine made a mental note to give Mercury extra treats once Jeremy left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You took down all our pictures,” Jeremy said as he walked through the living room, his eyes never lingering on one particular spot. It made Blaine uncomfortable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I burned them,” Blaine muttered, closing the door and crossing his arms. “Can you hurry up and get your stuff? I have plans and because of you, I’m going to be late for them.” Jeremy turned on his heel to face Blaine, hands in his pockets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Plans, huh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Blaine didn’t have high blood pressure before, he certainly did now. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>plans that are none of your business,” he replied, “can you hurry up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jeremy eyed Blaine up and down, zeroing in on the belt around his waist. He raised his eyebrows. “You’re wearing your lucky belt,” he said, pointing towards Blaine’s belt buckle. “I remember you wore it on our first date.” Realisation filled Jeremy’s face. “You’re going on a date.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine had had enough. First, Jeremy had the </span>
  <em>
    <span>audacity</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be late, then, he walked into his apartment like he owned the place and made assumptions about Blaine’s personal life. However correct the assumptions were, it was still incredibly rude. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushed past Jeremy and walked into his bedroom, roughly opening the bottom drawer of his dresser and pulling out a shoebox. As he turned to walk back to the living room, he found his personal space suddenly being invaded. Jeremy was standing right in front of him, an unreadable expression on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here’s your stuff,” Blaine said, shoving the box lengthwise towards Jeremy, trying to put some space between the two of them. “Get out of my house.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jeremy grabbed the box but didn’t back away. “Can’t we talk, Blaine?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated</span>
  </em>
  <span> the way his name sounded coming from Jeremy’s lips. “I have nothing to say to you.” With minimal force, he held onto the opposite end of the shoebox and pushed Jeremy away. “Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>get out</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jeremy sighed, pulling the box from Blaine’s grip completely and taking a step back. “Okay, I’m going.” He gave Blaine one last look before walking out of his bedroom, holding the shoebox under his arm. Before he reached the front door though, he paused. Blaine thought he could see his grip tighten on the shoebox. Then, he turned. “Is he…” he stopped again, shutting his lips tightly and shaking his head. It was a minute movement, but Blaine still caught it. “Forget it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, the door was opened and shut and Jeremy was gone. As soon as he heard the door click closed, Blaine leaned back against the armrest of the couch, letting out a slow, deep breath. He didn’t allow the moment to last long, though. He quickly collected himself and checked his phone, only to realise he hadn’t replied to Kurt’s text.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Kurt Hummel, 7:31pm:</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>
      <br/>
    </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>Of course. Is everything okay?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Kurt Hummel, 7:37pm:</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>
      <br/>
    </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>Blaine?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He’d forgotten to text Kurt back when Jeremy had arrived.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Blaine Anderson, 7:58pm:</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>
      <br/>
    </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>I’m so sorry, I was going to reply but the person I was waiting on arrived. It was a whole thing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Blaine Anderson, 7:58pm:</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>
      <br/>
    </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>I’m leaving the house now. I’ll see you soon!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>When his text finally sent, Blaine pocketed his phone and checked he had all of his things before finally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally </span>
  </em>
  <span>leaving his apartment, closing the door behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wouldn’t let anything get in the way of his date.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Kurt didn’t cook for himself often. While he appreciated the artistry of it, it had always seemed tiring to him. After learning how to cook after his mother died and painstakingly (but still lovingly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> lovingly) cooking for his father before and after his heart attack, he quite simply was tired of it. It certainly didn’t help that so many recipes were portioned for </span>
  <em>
    <span>families</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Kurt was just cooking for one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved </span>
  </em>
  <span>to eat. He just didn’t care to cook; but cooking for someone else was a different story entirely. Kurt supposed this was what Blaine felt, cooking for others every day, giving them an opportunity to taste the fruits of his labour. The thought of Blaine plating up a perfect dish for a customer to enjoy made Kurt smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At 8:45, Kurt had just finished cleaning up the kitchen when he heard his doorbell ring. With a heart full of excitement, Kurt checked his appearance in the reflection of his oven before walking over to the door, gripping the doorknob and slowly opening the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine was standing on the other side holding a bottle of wine, a sheepish smile on his face. He looked </span>
  <em>
    <span>gorgeous.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Kurt mustered up a smile and leaned against his door. “Hi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>sorry I’m late,” Blaine said, smiling when Kurt stepped aside to let him in. “I… it’s a bit of a long, boring story.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s okay,” Kurt said, eyes scanning Blaine’s outfit from the back as he walked into his apartment and took his shoes off. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Those are some nice pants he’s wearing, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Kurt thought, eyes trained on the… fit of Blaine’s slacks. “Elliott’s show isn’t until 10 so we have some time to eat and relax until then.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine turned and smiled again, more genuinely this time. There was that soft look in his eye that Kurt had grown slightly accustomed to. “Hi,” he said quietly, taking a small step forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, he gently gripped Kurt’s elbow and leaned in, brushing their lips together lightly. Kurt breathed in sharply as their lips connected before gripping his waist with one hand. He smelled good enough to eat. Kurt wanted to bury his face in Blaine’s neck and never leave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kiss was chaste and gentle, but it still managed to stir that same warmth in the bottom of Kurt’s belly, even after Blaine had pulled away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too much?” Blaine asked, though there was a cheeky smile on his face. Kurt chuckled, brushing his thumb against the bottom of his lower lip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all,” he replied, looking down at the bottle of wine in Blaine’s hand. “Is that for us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine seemed to remember what he was holding and made a quiet sound of remembrance, handing the bottle to Kurt. “I didn’t know what you were making so I just brought over my favourite bottle of white wine.”</span>
</p><p><span>Kurt looked at the label and ran his finger over the bottom of it.</span> <span>“I think this will go perfectly,” he said, smiling at Blaine before walking towards the kitchen and pulling out two wine glasses. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Blaine looking around, hands in his pockets. </span></p><p>
  <span>“I was a little bit preoccupied when I first came over,” Blaine said softly, walking over to Kurt and resting his hip against the counter, “but I really like your place.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt felt Blaine’s eyes on him as he poured them each a glass of wine, warm and pleasant. It made him feel like he was bubbling over on the inside. “Thank you,” he said softly, sliding a glass of wine over to Blaine. “It’s a little bit too big for just one person, but I don’t think anyone’s ever complained about having too much space.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They clinked their glasses together before lifting them up to their lips, maintaining heady and intense eye contact all the while. The wine rested on Kurt’s tongue, crisp and slightly sweet. The flavours mixed with the feeling of Blaine’s dark eyes staring into his own. It was intoxicating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They fell into a comfortable silence as Kurt took a sheet of tin foil off of a warm pan, the delicious scent of saucy, cheesy rice and seafood filling the living room. Blaine inhaled deeply. “It smells delicious,” he said, walking up behind Kurt and peeking over his shoulder. “Thank you for cooking, Kurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two glasses of wine and two plates of risotto later, Kurt was feeling pleasantly warm and tingly, sitting next to Blaine at his dining table. He just </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> his pupils were dilated and his cheeks were flushed, too. He rested his chin on the palm of his hand, leaving his other hand free to inch forward to play with the cuff of Blaine’s sweater sleeve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now was probably the best time to tell Blaine, while they were both the slightest bit tipsy off of delicious wine and full up of seafood and cheese. And for the first time, Kurt felt oddly optimistic, like nothing could go wrong (though part of him knew that was just the two glasses of wine talking).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen, I--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They cut each other off with quiet, flustered chuckles. Kurt bit his lip, the courage in his chest dying down slowly the longer he looked at Blaine’s dark eyes and his flushed cheeks. He gestured vaguely for Blaine to continue speaking, instead lifting his wine glass up to his lips and downing the last sip of his wine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me something about yourself,” Blaine said, knee brushing against Kurt’s leg. The slight touch was enough to send a bolt of electricity through Kurt’s entire body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt raised his eyebrows. “Anything specific?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine hummed lowly, tapping his finger against his lips in a teasing fashion. “Tell me about your family,” he settled on finally, a soft smile on his face as his eyes flickered between Kurt’s eyes and his fingers on his sleeve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt smiled, stiling his fingers. “Well, my Dad is a mechanic back in Ohio, has his own tire shop and everything.” He smiled as he thought about it, remembering hugs wrapped in flannel and the familiar smell of motor oil. “He used to make me work at the shop for extra money so I could finance my exorbitant high school wardrobe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You worked at a tire shop?” There was a heated look in Blaine’s eye that Kurt decided he </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> liked. “Did you wear coveralls?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A smirk grew on Kurt’s face and he ducked his head, chuckling softly. “Well, I had to protect my clothes </span>
  <em>
    <span>somehow</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he said, “it’s been a while, but I could probably still replace a broken radio.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine chuckled, trailing off. He looked like he was hesitating before he looked back up at Kurt, eyes imploring. “What’s your Dad like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, he’s… amazing,” Kurt sighed. “He likes to pretend he’s all gruff and tough, but he’s a big ‘ol softie.” He bit his lip, his index finger stretching out just the tiniest bit until it was resting on the revealed strip of skin of Blaine’s wrist. “He was all I had for a long time. My Mom died when I was 8, so… it was just me and him until he got remarried in my junior year.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, his hand became surrounded by warmth. Kurt looked down and blushed when he saw Blaine’s hand covering his own. He turned his palm over and twisted their fingers together, his thumb rubbing Blaine’s soft knuckles lightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He sounds great,” Blaine said quietly, a quiet kind of longing in his voice. It made Kurt’s heart ache. He sounded so… sincere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt vaguely remembered reading about Blaine’s Dad in that GQ article that had been published. Whoever the interviewer had been, they’d done extensive research on Blaine’s family but hadn’t actually… asked Blaine about his family. Looking at how distant he looked now, Kurt couldn’t help but feel curious himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… you don’t have to tell me, obviously,” he started, nervously pressing the tip of his tongue to the edge of his front tooth, “but, um… what about you? What’s your family like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine didn’t respond immediately. Kurt didn’t expect him to. The two of them sat there for a moment, hands clasped, Kurt listening to Blaine’s steady breaths before he sat back and finally started talking. “It’s a little complicated, I guess,” he said slowly, “my parents got divorced when I was 15. They always told me it wasn’t my fault, but I think I grew up thinking it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I told my Dad that I wanted to go to culinary school, he…” Blaine rolled his eyes, a small frown replacing the easy smile that had once rested on his face. “He wasn’t thrilled, but I think he hoped… I think he held out hope that once I graduated, I’d realise the whole cooking thing wasn’t for me and that I’d just fall into the family business.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt had never felt more grateful for his father’s endless and unconditional support. He squeezed Blaine’s hand, not knowing if words were entirely necessary. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Long story short, I didn’t. I got a job as a sous chef almost directly out of college.” Blaine gave Kurt a small, reminiscent smile, “I was incredibly lucky. Those were a good couple of months.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, Kurt knew a little bit about Blaine’s past job. It had been part of his research for his review; he’d worked as a sous chef at a restaurant named </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hearth</span>
  </em>
  <span> before Rachel Berry had poached him to work at her restaurant. His research had never extended past that; hearing the story from Blaine’s own lips felt… oddly surreal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt swallowed nervously. “Then what happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine shrugged, looking at their hands and slowly swiping his thumb over Kurt’s knuckle. “Rachel came and she offered me a head chef position at her new restaurant. I took it.” He furrowed his eyebrows, lips slightly pursed as he looked back up, straight into Kurt’s eyes. “I never really looked back until…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All the breath escaped Kurt’s body when they locked eyes. Kurt’s chest was aching with a phantom pain that he couldn’t explain; maybe it was because of the way Blaine was looking at him… or because of guilt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, Blaine cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair, squeezing Kurt’s hand once more. The light, breezy smile was back on his face, almost as if it had never left, though he looked slightly apologetic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was a little heavy for a first date, I’m sorry,” Blaine chuckled, letting go of Kurt’s hand to rub the back of his neck. Kurt immediately missed the feeling of Blaine’s smooth palm against his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t apologise,” Kurt said, heart pounding loud in his ears. “I want to get to know you better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smile Blaine gave him in return was unabashed; bright and warm, filling Kurt’s chest with a fluttery, butterfly-like feeling. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Blaine’s lips, his hand cupping Blaine’s jaw and sliding up his neck until his fingers were tangled in the hair on the back of Blaine’s neck. He could feel himself getting steadily and steadily overwhelmed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine kissed him back slowly, lips moving and gliding expertly over his own, sending his brain further into a tailspin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The longer they kissed, the more Kurt felt the truth get tangled up in his stomach and refuse to come out. He couldn’t tell Blaine tonight, not when… not when he’d practically bared his </span>
  <em>
    <span>soul </span>
  </em>
  <span>to Kurt. He didn’t want to ruin the moment for them both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would tell him eventually, Kurt decided as he felt Blaine’s tongue curiously slip between his lips, but eventually didn’t have to be tonight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt pulled away when he felt two light vibrations coming from his pocket. He made a quiet unwilling sound as he pulled his phone out and looked at what had caused the vibration. It was a text from Elliott.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Elliott Gilbert, 9:36pm:</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>
      <br/>
    </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>Hey, the club is filling up but I saved two seats right at the front for u and ur mans </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Elliott Gilbert, 9:36pm:</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>
      <br/>
    </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>Is it going well?? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt rolled his eyes as he read the texts, shielding his screen from Blaine who had politely leaned back and was looking at his cuticles with a small, pleased smile on his face. “That was Elliott,” he said, clearing his throat softly, “he said he’s saving us two seats in the front so we can watch his band.” Kurt pushed his chair back and stood up, wiping his palms over his thighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should we get going then?” Blaine asked, eyes following Kurt’s hands.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he breathed,  “it’s like a ten-minute walk, so it won’t take long to get there.” He turned on his phone and sent Elliott a quick reply. When he looked up, he saw both of their plates in Blaine’s hand and their empty wine glasses in the other as he walked over to the kitchen. “Oh, you don’t have to do that, I can deal with it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You cooked,” Blaine said with a shrug, placing the dishes in the sink and turning the faucet on. “It’s only fair that I clean, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt watched wordlessly as Blaine grabbed his sponge and gloves and began scrubbing away. This all felt way too domestic for a first date, but… surprisingly enough, he didn’t think he minded so much. He walked over and stood next to Blaine, grabbing a dry dish towel out of his top drawer. “I’ll dry then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They washed and dried in comfortable, relative silence, Kurt’s chest aching all the while.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>When they arrived at </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Banshee,</span>
  </em>
  <span> they skipped the line completely and walked up to the security guard outside the door. The moment the security guard locked eyes with Kurt, he gave him a polite smile and a nod and moved aside to let them both in, much to the chagrin of all the other patrons in line. Blaine simply watched, a nervous, impressed smile on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine looked around at the other people in the bar, smiling in slight disbelief when he saw a few people wearing t-shirts with a band logo printed on the front. “Wow,” He murmured. “What did you say Elliott’s band was called again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt smirked and turned to Blaine. The bar was so packed that they were practically chest to chest. He leaned in so he could speak into Blaine’s ear, brushing his lips teasingly against Blaine’s earlobe. “They’re called </span>
  <em>
    <span>Vampire Love Bite.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> He pulled away just in time to see Blaine’s lips part and his eyes grow wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked into the bar together, pressed together from shoulder to elbow as they pushed their way to the front where a small table near a darkened stage was waiting for them. Kurt pulled Blaine towards the table and settled down into his stool. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow,” Blaine said with a breathless chuckle, “is this what being a VIP is like?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt smirked, rolling his eyes. “Stick with me, kid,” he said, barely containing his grin, “I’ll show you what life is like on the other side.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After settling down at their table, Blaine took his coat off and rested it against his stool. He shuffled toward Kurt and placed a hand on Kurt’s wrist. “I’m gonna go get a drink, do you want one?” he asked. Kurt could barely focus on anything except the way Blaine’s breath was gently tickling his ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled his head back and smiled at Blaine, already feeling slightly warm. “I’ll just have one of what you’re having.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine nodded and gave Kurt a tiny nod before turning to go get their drinks. Kurt watched as he descended into the throng of bar-goers, resting his chin against his palm. This certainly didn’t feel like just ‘hanging out’ anymore. Kurt wasn’t sure exactly who he’d been trying to kid. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked</span>
  </em>
  <span> Blaine; could feel the feeling deep in his ribs, dangerously close to his heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was something exhilarating about the feeling; the swoop in Kurt’s stomach whenever his phone lit up with a text, the tingles on his skin whenever Blaine touched him, the familiar feeling of lips pressed against his combined with the smell of raspberries and clean linens. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it was also </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrifying, </span>
  </em>
  <span>putting so much trust and expectation into one person. Kurt wasn’t sure if he was ready to completely let go of that fear, especially not with the inconvenient truth of his occupation looming over the top of both of their heads. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kurt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt furrowed his eyebrows and looked around, trying to place the disembodied voice as he heard it. He turned to his left and his jaw dropped just the slightest bit when he saw his former boss, Isabelle Wright of all people shuffling towards him. “Isabelle!” he said, throat tight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Isabelle finally reached Kurt’s table and placed her hand on his table, grinning at him. “Kurt, hi!” she said happily, “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I… I didn’t expect to see you here either,” he said quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Isabelle hummed. “My husband dragged me here.” She turned and pointed towards a table not far from Kurt’s where a tall, dark skinned man was sitting, watching the two of them with a fond smile. “He told me about this band that his label wants to sign and insisted I come check them out with him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” Kurt said. “Your husband wants to sign Elliott’s band?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Isabelle nodded, giving her husband a playful wave and blowing him a kiss before turning to Kurt, giving him her full attention. She clasped one of his hands in her own. “Kurt,” she said, voice turning shockingly serious considering the jovial tone she’d taken on earlier, “I haven’t seen you since you left Vogue.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The muscles in Kurt’s jaw clenched almost automatically at the mention of Vogue. If he weren’t tense before, he definitely was now. “Right. That,” he mumbled, looking down at his cuticles. “I really appreciated everything you did for me at Vogue, Isabelle, but i-it just wasn’t the right fit for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Isabelle pursed her lips. “And working at The New York Times is?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt looked up at Isabelle, eyes wide. “Wh… how did you know I worked for The New York Times?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The giggle that left Isabelle’s lips made Kurt feel like he was being teased. “Oh, Kurt, the second I read your review of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kochi</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I knew it was you. You’re a very talented writer.” The lights flickered above them and Isabelle looked up. “I need to be getting back to my seat, but…” she reached into her purse and pulled out a business card, giving Kurt a warm smile. “I want you to call me and we’ll set up a lunch date, okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt merely nodded and took the card from her, watching as she walked back to her table, his thoughts buzzing a mile a minute in his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine returned soon after, two glasses in his hand. He placed them on the table and slid into his stool, his smile dimming when he saw the far-off look in Kurt’s eyes. “Hey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shocked out of his stupor, Kurt looked back up and smiled when he saw Blaine, looking at him sheepishly and sliding a full glass toward him. “Hi,” he said, gripping his drink. The cold glass grounded him, calming his nerves. “What did you get us?” he asked before wrapping his lips around the straw and taking a sip. Kurt thought he saw Blaine’s eyes dip down to follow his lips as he drank and he fought back a smirk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I uh… I got us each a Sex on the Beach,” Blaine said sheepishly, poking at the ice cubes floating in his drink. “I thought it would be funny, but uh… it seems a little inappropriate now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The taste of peach and grapefruit hit Kurt’s tongue. As he looked straight into Blaine’s dark eyes as the alcohol mixed on his tongue, he was immediately reminded of the night they met at the bar. Kurt smiled to himself and swallowed. “That’s actually my favourite,” he said, reaching across the table and taking Blaine’s hand. “Thanks.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The surprised, but elated smile on Blaine’s face sent Kurt’s heart into a veritable tizzy. He never wanted to look away.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The show was </span>
  <em>
    <span>electric, </span>
  </em>
  <span>filled with life and loud music that made Kurt’s heart feel like it was beating the slightest bit harder. The conversation with Isabelle left Kurt’s mind completely the more he watched Elliott and his band members perform. He glanced at Blaine every so often, who was also watching the show with rapt attention. Their hands stayed clasped the entire time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last song ended and Elliott and the other band members bowed. When they descended into the back room and the lights went back up, Kurt turned to Blaine and grinned, squeezing his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So?” he asked, sipping the last of his drink and standing up off of his chair. “What did you think?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine stood up as well, but didn’t let go of Kurt, letting their hands dangle between them, fingers still entangled together. The feeling of Blaine’s warm fingers against his own released a series of butterflies into Kurt’s stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was amazing,” Blaine replied, “your friend is incredibly talented.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, he’s phenomenal.” Kurt hesitated before turning to Blaine, an impish grin on his face. “You know I used to be a part of his band.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine raised his eyebrows, his mouth falling into a tiny ‘o’. “You were?” he asked, pulling on Kurt’s hand until he came just the slightest bit closer. “Does that mean you wore the leather and eyeliner, too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt chuckled, looking down at Blaine coquettishly. “Maybe.” With that, he took a step away from Blaine and began pulling him towards the backstage. “C’mon, Elliott wants to meet you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked around to a door behind the stage, pushing it open quietly until they were in a well-lit back room. When they walked in, Kurt saw Elliott and his band members talking to the man Kurt saw earlier, Isabelle’s husband. He waved sheepishly when they turned to look at him and Blaine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man, Isabelle’s husband, smiled back politely before turning back to face the band. “I hope you guys will consider my offer,” he said, before nodding and walking out, brushing past Kurt and Blaine as he left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as the door closed behind the man, the entire band erupted into a series of whoops and cheers. Kurt simply watched from the doorway, leaning into Blaine’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elliott broke away from the group, a bright grin on his face as he walked towards Kurt and immediately enveloped him in a tight hug. “Kurt!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt laughed, dropping Blaine’s hand and wrapping his arms around Elliott’s back tightly. “Elliott!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elliott pulled away, but kept his hands firmly on Kurt’s shoulders. He was practically bouncing on his feet. “Do you know who that was?!” he didn’t give Kurt a chance to reply. “That man was Derek Fischer, the artist representative for Bower records!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt glanced at Blaine who shrugged before looking back at Elliott. “That’s great, Ell,” he said. “What does that mean?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It means that he wants to sign us!” He finished. He was fully jumping up and down now, bracing himself on Kurt’s shoulders as Kurt laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s amazing, Elliott!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elliott calmed down and looked over at Blaine, running a hand through his hair breathlessly before giving him a bright smile. “Hi!” he said, holding out a hand. “I’m sorry for not introducing myself, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> nice to meet you. Blaine the chef, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” Blaine said, looking at Kurt. A small smile was beginning to grow on his face now. Kurt ducked his head shyly. He could feel his face beginning to heat up. “Kurt mentioned me?” He took Elliott’s hand and shook it firmly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah,” Elliott said with a chuckle as they dropped their hands. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I’m Elliott.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine nodded, relaxing his shoulders. “It’s nice to meet you too,” he said. “You guys were really great out there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you!” Elliott said, eyes flickering curiously between the two of them. “Also, don’t worry.” Blaine looked at him curiously, tilting his head to the side. “Kurt only had good things to say about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d ask you to elaborate, but…” Blaine looked at Kurt with a guilty smile, bumping their shoulders together, “I would hate to embarrass him even more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence fell between the three of them; the kind of strange, awkward silence that only ever occurred during first-meetings. Kurt cleared his throat quietly and smiled at Elliott. “If you’re finished ruining my reputation in front of my…” he trailed off, mouth suddenly dry, “um… Blaine, can we change the subject? Do you wanna grab a drink with us or…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elliott and Kurt looked each other, silently communicating. After a few seconds, Elliott shook his head, running his fingers through his hair and blowing a breath out of his mouth. “Thanks for the invite, but I’m pretty tired,” he said, smirking at Kurt, “and I have a devastatingly attractive boyfriend and a warm bath waiting for me at home.” He looked back at Blaine and shook his hand again. “It was really nice to meet you, Blaine.” He turned to Kurt and tapped his nose playfully. “And you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>behave.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, Elliott gave Kurt a wink and turned to leave with the rest of his band mates, leaving Kurt and Blaine alone in the back room. Kurt </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> his face was beyond bright red by this point. He’d never wanted to throttle Elliott more in his </span>
  <em>
    <span>life.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine laughed, turning to face Kurt. “He seems really nice,” he said, looking up at Kurt through his eyelashes. “So… you talk about me with your friends?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt groaned, but laughed all the same when he heard Blaine’s giggles. “I… he’s my best friend, so I may or may not have… mentioned you a few times.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine hummed. “Oh? What did you say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt pursed his lips, remembering the conversation he’d had with Elliott just last week. He wondered if </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> was a good time to tell Blaine the truth, when the two of them were alone in an isolated back room of a bar, high off the exhilaration of an excellent show and the natural adrenaline of a first date. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine’s cheeks were lightly flushed from the alcohol and the sparkle in his eyes made Kurt melt. He would do anything to keep that sparkle in Blaine’s eyes for longer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So instead, he wrapped his arms around Blaine’s neck and leaned in, kissing him firmly and tickling the hairs on the nape of his neck, sighing quietly when he felt him respond to the kiss. Blaine’s lips tasted like peach schnapps and vodka, and Kurt hungered for more the longer they kissed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They pulled away after a few seconds, Kurt leaning into him until their chests were pressed flush against each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does that answer your question?” he asked breathlessly, moving one hand to cup Blaine’s cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine brushed their noses together. “Honestly, no,” he said. He squeezed Kurt’s waist and pulled him closer. “But I think I get the general idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt laughed and dropped his arms from Blaine’s neck but grabbed his hand instead. “C’mon,” he said quietly, “I’ll escort you to the subway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine pretended to swoon as they walked out of the back door together. “How chivalrous.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked to the subway together in comfortable silence, hands clasped and swinging as the cold air surrounded them. It felt natural. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Right </span>
  </em>
  <span>somehow. When they finally reached the subway entrance, Kurt turned to Blaine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had a really great time tonight,” he said quietly. “Would it be a fair assumption to say you did too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine nodded profusely. “Definitely.” His voice was quiet, only a few decibels above a whisper. He leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to Kurt’s lips that ended as soon as it began. “I’ll call you, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt nodded and reluctantly dropped his grip on Blaine’s hand, waving as he watched him descend into the subway entrance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For his entire walk home, Kurt kept his hands firmly in his pockets, trying to emulate the warmth of another soft, warm hand curled around his own. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>
    <a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/seafoodrisotto_5522">Chapter Recipe: Saffron and Seafood Risotto</a>
  </strong>
</p><ul>
<li><span>450g/1lb prawns, shell on</span></li>
<li><span>36 small mussels</span></li>
<li><span>100g/4oz monkfish fillet, thinly sliced</span></li>
<li><span>50g/2oz squid, cleaned and thinly sliced</span></li>
</ul><ul>
<li><span>25ml/1fl oz olive oil</span></li>
<li><span>1 garlic clove, chopped</span></li>
<li><span>1 medium carrot, chopped</span></li>
<li><span>1 celery stick, chopped</span></li>
<li><span>1 small onion, chopped</span></li>
<li><span>1 small leek, chopped</span></li>
<li><span>¼ red chilli, chopped</span></li>
<li><span>1 tomato, chopped</span></li>
<li><span>1/8 tsp saffron</span></li>
<li><span>900ml/1½pt fish stock</span></li>
<li><span>50g/2oz unsalted butter</span></li>
<li><span>2 shallots, chopped</span></li>
<li><span>1 garlic clove, chopped</span></li>
<li><span>350g/12oz risotto rice e.g. Arborio</span></li>
<li><span>120ml/4fl oz dry white wine</span></li>
<li><span>25g/1oz parmesan</span></li>
<li><span>1 tbsp olive oil</span></li>
</ul><p>
  <span>Peel the prawns, reserving the shells for the stock. Set the prawns aside until needed. Wash the mussels, scrape them clean and pull out the beards. Open by placing in a pan with a splash of water, covering tightly then setting over a high heat until they have opened. Strain through a colander to remove any grit. Save the liquor for the stock. Remove the meats from all but 8 of the shells, discard the empty shells. Leaving a few whole mussels in the risotto makes it look very appetizing. Set the mussels aside until needed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To make the stock, heat the oil in a large pan and add the garlic, carrot, celery, onion, leek and chilli. Fry for 5 minutes without colouring. Add the reserved prawn shells and cook for another couple of minutes then add the tomato, saffron, fish stock and mussel liquor. Bring to the boil and simmer for 30 minutes then push through a conical sieve with the back of a ladle to extract as much flavour as possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To make the risotto, melt the butter in a heavy-based pan (this will lessen the chance of the risotto burning on the bottom as it cooks) then add the shallots and garlic and sweat until softened. Add the rice and stir for a couple of minutes until well-coated with butter. Pour in the wine. Bring to the boil then remove from the heat and let the rice absorb all the liquid. You can make the risotto to this stage some time before completing the dish. The final cooking time, about 20 minutes, is reduced to about 10 by doing this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Return the pan to a medium heat and add the shellfish stock to the rice in three stages, allowing the liquid to be absorbed each time before adding the next amount. Stir continuously until the stock is almost completely absorbed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the rice is just tender but still firm to the bite (al dente), add the parmesan. (The small amount of stock left at this stage will be absorbed by the cheese.) While the risotto is cooking, brush the rest of the seafood with olive oil and grill for 3-4 minutes. To serve, carefully mix the seafood including the mussels into the risotto. Leave a few pieces on top to garnish.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Pho Ga</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>a shorter chapter today (like blaine hehe)!! but i hope y'all enjoy regardless &lt;3 i got some pretty shit news so i look forward to reading the comments y'all have! i'm sure it'll cheer me up immensely!!! </p><p>grab a snack and some water and enjoy the chapter!</p><p>comments and kudos are always appreciated xx </p><p>- Brit</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Blaine gazed at Kurt sitting across from him, stirring through his bowl of pho with his chopsticks nervously. Even the delicious, savoury smell of soup and chicken couldn’t distract him from what he was about to say. “I’ve been thinking,” he said slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt raised his eyebrows. His lips were wrapped around his straw as he took a slow, gradual sip of his iced coffee. He swallowed and put the glass down, leaning forward to rest on the palm of his hand. “Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been three weeks since their first date, nearly a month since they’d hooked up, and the longer Blaine spent with Kurt, the faster he could feel himself falling deeper and deeper into painfully familiar territory. Whenever he so much as </span>
  <em>
    <span>thought</span>
  </em>
  <span> about Kurt, a deep, fluttery feeling stirred in the bottom of his belly, rising up to his chest like bubbles in a can of Coke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…” Blaine hesitated, sucking his lower lip into his mouth for a moment before looking up at Kurt. “We see each other all the time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt nodded slowly. “Yes,” he said, extending the vowel for a few seconds as he stirred his coffee, ice clinking around in his glass. They’d returned to the Vietnamese cafe that they’d first reconnected, all those weeks ago. Blaine had unofficially dubbed it ‘their’ place in his mind, but he’d never tell Kurt that. Not yet, at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I sleep over at your apartment sometimes,” Blaine continued slowly. “We’ve met each other’s friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have,” Kurt said, a confused smile on his face. “What’s your point, Blaine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My point is…” Blaine sighed and gave Kurt a small, sheepish smile. “I haven’t been doing any of those things with anybody else.” He paused. “Have you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt didn’t respond right away, but the small, soft smile on his face absolved all of Blaine’s worries. He watched as Kurt picked up his napkin and wiped some of the condensation from his glass off of his hand before he leaned forward, looking directly into Blaine’s eyes with those bright blue irises. “No, Blaine, I have not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smile that grew on Blaine’s face was so big, he couldn’t even begin to control it. He leaned back in his chair and nodded slowly, looking down at his lap before returning Kurt’s gaze. “Good. I’m glad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt took another sip of coffee before resting his elbows on the table. “Was that your round-a-bout way of asking me if we’re exclusive?” Blaine shrugged, suddenly bashful. Kurt chuckled and shook his head. “That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> middle school, Blaine.” Kurt reached over and took Blaine’s hand, squeezing it lightly. “Still cute though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I wasn’t sure,” Blaine said, feeling a blush growing high on the apples of his cheeks. “I just… wanted to confirm.” They both laughed, finishing their coffees slowly and making idle small talk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine glanced at Kurt as he looked out the window, silently watching people walk by. He looked so beautiful, it almost hurt to look at him. There was still one question deep in the back of Blaine’s mind, though, one that he’d been thinking about for the past few weeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I ask you another question?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt turned back to Blaine and smiled. “Are you gonna ask if you can walk with me to the cafeteria during lunch?” his voice was light, teasing. Blaine stuck his tongue out at him playfully before reaching over and tracing his fingers around the dips and crevices of his knuckles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he said, “I was just thinking, you know what </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>do. But you never talk about what you do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt didn't reply for some time. Blaine waited patiently, tearing his straw wrapper into tiny pieces and watching as the crumpled bits of paper fell onto his empty plate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…” Kurt blew out a thin breath, “I used to work in fashion before I…” He moved his hand away from Blaine’s and placed it on his side of the table, much to Blaine’s chagrin. “When I quit my previous job, I was sort of… I was in a difficult spot in my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine hummed. “Okay,” he said slowly. “I don’t wanna force you to talk about it if you don’t want to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stayed silent for a moment. Blaine thought he could see the cogs turning in his head. “I just…” Kurt bit his lip. Blaine watched as he rubbed the pad of his index finger against his thumbnail. “I’ll tell you eventually, okay? I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Blaine said quietly, reaching over and grasping Kurt’s hand again, grinning when he gripped him just as hard. “Whenever you’re ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt smiled at him, and Blaine ignored the strange feeling in his stomach that told him something was off.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>After lunch was paid for, they walked the short distance to central park, holding hands and enjoying the cool, spring breeze. The moment Blaine interlocked their fingers, Kurt couldn’t help but grin, though he ducked his head and kept it to himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their conversation from earlier was still ringing in Kurt’s ears. It had been the </span>
  <em>
    <span>truth </span>
  </em>
  <span>to a certain extent… he really wasn’t ready to have that conversation with Blaine, especially not now when things between them were still so fresh, so fragile. But there was still a part of his past that he could offer to Blaine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Kurt said quietly, rubbing his thumb across Blaine’s knuckles. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Blaine turn to face him. “Earlier I told you I used to work in fashion.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine nodded and bumped their shoulders together. “I remember,” he said slowly. “Kurt, if you don’t wanna talk about it, I completely understand.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt stopped walking then, facing Blaine fully and giving him a hesitant smile. “I wanna tell you. I can’t tell you everything yet, but… I wanna tell you what I can.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He guided them both to a bench and sat down, so close that they were connected from knee to hip. Blaine’s warmth was seeping through the fabric of their pants, distracting Kurt immensely. He sighed and wiped his sweaty palms on his thighs. “A few years ago, I… I had a job working for Vogue Magazine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine raised his eyebrows. “Wow,” he said, a soft smile on his face. “I guess that explains your impeccable sense of style.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt chuckled. “Oh, stop,” he said teasingly. He allowed himself to relish in the compliment for a moment before he remembered the story he was trying to tell. “It was great at first. My boss was lovely; I even used to refer to her as my fairy godmother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine’s smile faltered. He reached over and placed a light hand on Kurt’s knee, squeezing gently. “What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” Kurt replied, leaning against the bench’s backrest. “Absolutely nothing. I stayed there for two years fetching layouts, getting coffee, and doing maddening menial tasks.” He looked at Blaine who was sitting there, patiently waiting for him to continue his story. He couldn’t help but smile at his earnest ‘listening’ face. “But one day, I got an actual assignment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine hummed. “What kind of assignment?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The memory of that day came crawling back into Kurt’s mind, slow and unpleasant. “Isabelle called me into her office and she told me she wanted my help putting together some models’ outfits for a two-page spread,” he said, staring up at the clouds as they passed, blinking rapidly. “I wasn’t actually designing the clothes, just picking out items from a line up, but I was still </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> excited.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine’s thumb rubbed gentle circles into Kurt’s knee, the touch slightly muted through the fabric of Kurt’s pants. “What was the spread?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt leaned further into Blaine’s side. “It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>School Uniforms: Chic or Eek!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He rolled his eyes. “Whoever came up with the headline was obviously phoning it in that day.” He heard Blaine stifle a tiny chuckle and he smiled, too. “But even though I didn’t have total control over the situation, I was still excited. It felt like this was the first thing I could put my name on that wasn’t a stupid </span>
  <em>
    <span>Starbucks </span>
  </em>
  <span>cup, something I could be proud of.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stopped speaking then, chewing through his memories and thoughts like an endless wad of chewing gum. “I put together the outfits -- impeccably, might I add -- and when I showed them to Isabelle and her team for approval.” Kurt clenched his jaw. Almost as though he could feel Kurt’s agitation himself, Blaine wrapped an arm around his shoulders, rubbing his arm soothingly. “They basically tore the entire thing apart, told me the entire look was wrong, that it wasn’t what they were looking for…” he sighed and scratched the pad of his thumb with his nail, watching as the skin turned white from the pressure. “Isabelle told me it wasn’t anything personal afterwards, but it was a huge shot to my self confidence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thinking about that day made Kurt’s throat feel tight, like it was closing up. He never really let himself think about his past, think about his failure. A tiny part of him regretted quitting, regretted not </span>
  <em>
    <span>showing </span>
  </em>
  <span>everyone what exactly it was he was made of… but a larger part of him, the part that won the fight, was so tired. Tired of being undervalued and disrespected. So he took the easy way out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt a pair of lips being pressed to his temple and he sighed, trying to slow down his heart. “I was so embarrassed, I quit my job, left </span>
  <em>
    <span>Vogue</span>
  </em>
  <span> behind, and found another job… somewhere else.” Kurt stopped himself before he could continue, letting all the shame and regret wash over him as he recounted the story for Blaine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew what part of the story came next; the part that would inevitably make everything messy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Kurt,” Blaine said quietly, cupping his cheek with his hand and rubbing his cheekbone with his thumb. “That’s awful.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt shrugged, nuzzling Blaine’s hand with his cheek. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “I’ve moved on for the most part, tried to work harder and be less emotional about my work so that kind of thing doesn’t happen again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But… isn’t that kind of part of the process sometimes?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt looked at Blaine, eyebrows furrowed. “Getting humiliated by your superiors and quitting your job?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Blaine chuckled, dropping his hand from Kurt’s cheek. “I mean… </span>
  <em>
    <span>being</span>
  </em>
  <span> emotional. You can’t do anything without emotion, not really.” He hesitated. “I’ve been burned so many times -- both literally and metaphorically -- in my time as a chef, and the emotion is part of what makes my cooking… better.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt clamped his lips shut, nodding minutely as he listened to Blaine talk. It almost felt like he couldn’t speak at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… I feel like I understand that initial feeling of embarrassment and even hurt when you get criticised,” Blaine explained slowly, “I mean I’ve felt it all my life, even recently with a review that </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stella </span>
  </em>
  <span>received, but it’s… it’s easier to blow the negative out of proportion rather than see the positives in your own work, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A review. Kurt’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> review. His heart sunk deeper in his chest. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’d </span>
  </em>
  <span>made Blaine feel the exact same way that those people had, belittled and embarrassed - even talentless. The guilt that had been festering in his stomach for the past few weeks grew even more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Kurt didn’t respond after a few seconds, Blaine took his hand, lifting it up to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss against his knuckles. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “I didn’t mean to be patronising.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt looked up. “No, no, you weren’t,” he said quietly, “not at all.” He sighed and mustered up a small smile. “I guess it’s just… I haven’t thought about that in a while, so… it’s bringing up a lot of memories for me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine nodded. He didn’t seem to notice the way Kurt was inwardly panicking, instead kissing his knuckles again before dropping their hands to rest in his lap. The touch felt nice, Kurt thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>natural.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Thank you for telling me about that,” he said quietly. “I…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt smiled. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing, I just…” Blaine tilted his head, a gentle look in his eyes that made Kurt’s heart bound. “I like finding out new things about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At Blaine’s quiet, gentle admission, Kurt smiled weakly and leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips as he desperately ignored his aching chest. He wouldn’t tell Blaine about the review, if not for his own sake, then for Blaine’s, he justified. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt </span>
  </em>
  <span>Blaine would feel if he knew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, Kurt would hold onto that little secret for as long as possible. After all, what Blaine didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <a href="https://www.recipetineats.com/vietnamese-chicken-pho-soup-pho-ga/">
    <b>Chapter Recipe: Pho Ga</b>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <b>Aromatics</b>
</p><ul>
<li><span>1 tbsp oil , vegetable or canola (or other plain oil)</span></li>
<li><span>2 onions , halved (skin on fine)</span></li>
<li><span>5cm/ 2" piece of ginger , sliced 0.75cm / 1/3" thick (unpeeled)</span></li>
</ul><p>
  <b>Pho Broth</b>
</p><ul>
<li><span>2 litres / 2 quarts water</span></li>
<li><span>1.5 kg / 3 lb chicken thighs, bone in skin on</span></li>
<li><span>1 small bunch coriander/cilantro</span></li>
<li><span>5 star anise pods (was short in photo &amp; video!)</span></li>
<li><span>1 cinnamon stick</span></li>
<li><span>4 cloves</span></li>
<li><span>2 tsp fennel seeds</span></li>
<li><span>2 tsp coriander seeds</span></li>
<li><span>8 tsp fish sauce</span></li>
<li><span>6 tsp white sugar</span></li>
<li><span>3/4 tsp salt (Cooking/kosher salt, or 1/2 tsp table salt)</span></li>
</ul><p>
  <b>Noodle Bowls</b>
</p><ul>
<li><span>360g / 13 oz dried rice noodles , thin flat (or 600g fresh)</span></li>
<li><span>2 green onions stems , finely sliced</span></li>
</ul><p>
  <b>Toppings</b>
</p><ul>
<li><span>3 cups bean sprouts</span></li>
<li><span>1 small bunch EACH Thai Basil, min, coriander/cilantro</span></li>
<li><span>2 limes , cut into 4 wedges</span></li>
<li><span>Hoisin sauce</span></li>
<li><span>Sriracha</span></li>
<li><span>Red chillies , finely sliced (optional)</span></li>
</ul><p>
  <span>Heat oil in a 6 litre / 6 quart pot over high heat. Place ginger and onion facedown, leave undisturbed for 2 minutes until they blacken. Turn and leave for another 2 minutes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Put everything in pot - Add water and remaining Broth ingredients EXCEPT salt. Bring it a simmer, then lower heat so it's simmering VERY gently with the lid on, but open a crack (Note 6). Simmer gently 1.5 hours. Scoop off scum (dirty foam) that rises to surface once or twice during the simmering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Remove chicken, then strain broth into a clean pot - you should have 1.5 litres / 1.5 quarts. If you have more, simmer to reduce. If less, top it up with water. Add salt, bring broth to a gentle simmer. Broth should be slightly on the salty side - it dilutes when you add the noodles. Keep broth warm until ready to serve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shred chicken meat, discard bones and skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Place Toppings out on the table. Prepare noodles per packet directions, just prior to serving. Drain very well (excess water dilutes broth). Place noodle in bowls. Top with chicken, ladle over 375ml / 1.5 cups broth. Sprinkle with green onion. Pile on Toppings of choice, add a squeeze of lime into the broth. Consume immediately.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Arroz Palabok</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm here I'm queer and I'm saying biracial blaine rights. blaine is biracial in all of the fics i write so it's basically canon</p><p>enjoy the chapter!! all of your comments on the previous chapter were so so lovely you definitely turned my day around &lt;3 </p><p>ALSO THANK YOU GUYS FOR OVER 1K HITS THAT'S WHACK AS F!! i'm so thankful that people are reading and enjoying this story because it really was a labour of love!! I look forward to hearing what you guys think of this chapter!</p><p>comments and kudos are always appreciated!</p><p>- Brit xx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“So, I’ve always wanted to ask a chef this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were at Blaine’s apartment, enjoying a cozy night together under his dimly lit fluorescent bulbs, pleasantly invading each other’s space. Blaine’s back and shoulders were entirely too sore from work, but having Kurt in his apartment, looking so casual and </span>
  <em>
    <span>attractive</span>
  </em>
  <span> made the pain feel less noticeable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine raised his eyebrows inquisitively, looking up from his pot. “Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt grinned from where he was sat on Blaine’s kitchen counter. “On a scale of 1 - 10, how accurate is the movie </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ratatouille</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine threw his head back in a laugh, turning down the stove and walking over to Kurt, wrapping his arms around Kurt’s waist. The sound of Blaine’s laugh bounded in Kurt’s chest, making him incapable of hiding his own giggles. “Um… 8/10,” Blaine said once he’d recovered from his laughter, “I’m taking away points for the scene where the rats tie up the health inspector.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of all the things, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> the most inaccurate part?” Kurt asked, slapping Blaine’s hands gently when he felt his fingers begin to move in a suspiciously </span>
  <em>
    <span>tickly </span>
  </em>
  <span>motion. “Not the part where a man is being controlled by a rat?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine shrugged, mirth twinkling in his eyes as he leaned closer to Kurt, pressing their foreheads together. “Well, you never know what a chef is hiding under their toque,” he murmured, pressing his lips to Kurt’s chastely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt’s wrapped his arms around Blaine’s neck. “Is that what you’re hiding up here?” he asked, running his fingers through Blaine’s curls gently. One hand came to rest on the back of Blaine’s neck where he began to lightly scratch. Kurt watched gleefully as Blaine leaned into the touch, eyes closed and mouth just the slightest bit upturned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm, you’ve uncovered my secret.” They pressed their lips together, not kissing yet, just breathing each other in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt pressed a chaste kiss to Blaine’s lips before pulling away and taking a deep breath, humming pleasantly and shuffling around as the smell of garlic and shrimp filled his nose. “So, what did you make for us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine grinned, kissing Kurt once more before grabbing his wooden spoon and scooping an orange, gloopy-looking substance onto his spoon. He blew on it gently, one hand underneath the spoon as he gently guided it to Kurt’s lips. “Taste.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt raised an eyebrow but leaned forward, wrapping his lips around the tip of the spoon. The first thing he tasted was the salty flavour of shrimp stock, complemented by the subtle, fragrant taste of toasted garlic with a quieter, milder peppery taste. It was delicious. He licked his lips and smiled when he finished the spoonful. “That tastes delicious,” he said. “What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a Filipino dish called arroz palabok,” Blaine said, slurping up the last remaining bits of porridge from the spoon before returning to the stove. “My Dad’s side of the family is from the Philippines. When I was 14, before the um… the divorce, we took a family trip to Manila and my Grandma taught me how to make it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt smiled and hopped off the counter, shuffling over and wrapping his arms around Blaine’s waist from behind, his thumbs gently stroking his hips. “It’s delicious,” he said quietly, pressing a light kiss to Blaine’s neck. He wrinkled his nose playfully as he watched Blaine return the soiled wooden spoon to the pot, stirring the porridge around slowly. “Blaine, we both just ate from that. That’s not very hygienic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smile on Blaine’s face betrayed the way he rolled his eyes at Kurt’s comment. “Kurt, I’ve had your dick in my mouth, I think double dipping is the least of our concerns.” A bright giggle escaped his throat when Kurt smacked his chest playfully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to be so </span>
  <em>
    <span>crass!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Kurt said, a blush steadily growing on his face. “One more slip up like that and I’m gonna start questioning your health and safety practices at work.” At the mention of work, Kurt felt Blaine tense up under his arms. He frowned, pressing his lips together tightly as he hooked his chin over Blaine’s shoulder. “Blaine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine sighed, quiet and controlled. “I’m fine,” he said, his tense shoulders telling Kurt that he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>, in fact, fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stepped away from Blaine’s back and moved so they were standing next to each other. Kurt leaned against the counter and placed a hand on Blaine’s bicep. “You know you can talk to me, right?” he asked, sliding his hand up to Blaine’s shoulder, then to cup his jaw. “It’s obvious something’s bothering you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt felt Blaine’s cheeks lift under his hand as he smiled. “Work has just been a little </span>
  <em>
    <span>stressful</span>
  </em>
  <span> recently,” he said, moving out of Kurt’s grasp to grab two bowls and a ladle. “Rachel - I told you about her, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An uncomfortable feeling built up in Kurt’s chest at the mention of Blaine’s boss. He knew of Rachel Berry all too well from his extensive research. He nodded, taking the ladle out of Blaine’s hands and trying to focus on spooning porridge into their respective bowls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Last night, she told us about </span>
  <em>
    <span>another</span>
  </em>
  <span> review we’d received,” Blaine said, grabbing two spoons out of the silverware drawer and handing them to Kurt, smiling thankfully when he handed him a full bowl. “It wasn’t great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt gripped the bowl tightly in his hand, the heat sinking into his palm, </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> hot enough to sting. “What did it say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine got a far-off look in his eye as he stared into the distance. “The recent changes made to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stella d’Oro’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>menu and business practices are questionable at best and repellent at worst.” He gave Kurt a joyless smile, eyes glazed over. “Need I continue?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt tried his best to level his breathing. He didn’t need to be panicking, not when Blaine was sitting next to him looking so distraught. This wasn’t about Kurt right now. They sat down at Blaine’s dining table, Kurt quickly wrapping a gentle arm around Blaine’s shoulders. He leaned into the touch. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, pressing a gentle, hopefully comforting kiss to Blaine’s temple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine groaned and rubbed his forehead, barely responding to Kurt’s ministrations. “I just… I wish Rachel would </span>
  <em>
    <span>listen </span>
  </em>
  <span>to me instead of steamrolling over me with her ideas,” he said, stirring his arroz around in his bowl without taking a bite. “She’s been like this since that New York Times article came out. I can tell she’s panicking and she won’t let me </span>
  <em>
    <span>help</span>
  </em>
  <span> and I just… I’ve never ever felt this powerless.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt shuffled closer to Blaine and rested his forehead against the side of his head, kissing his cheek lightly. Guilt seethed through him, boiling his blood and turning his palms sweaty. His reviews were known for being brutally honest and cut-throat at times, but, as ignorant as it sounded, Kurt had never truly thought about the repercussions that his articles left behind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he’d been so blissfully sealed in his own world, giving people the scathing truth with no sugary coating that he’d somehow forgotten about the </span>
  <em>
    <span>people</span>
  </em>
  <span> behind those dishes. He tried to defend himself, say what was the </span>
  <em>
    <span>point</span>
  </em>
  <span> of being a critic if he wasn’t allowed to be plain-spoken in his work? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Part of him wondered if he wanted to continue doing this at all. The negativity of it and the consequences he could suddenly see so clearly were </span>
  <em>
    <span>exhausting</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll be okay,” Kurt said quietly, cupping Blaine’s cheek. “I know it will.” He paused, turning Blaine’s face until they were looking at one another, noses mere centimeters apart. “You’re an amazing chef.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine leaned in and kissed Kurt slowly, breathing in sharply through his nose as Kurt’s hand stroked his cheekbone. He pulled away and rested their foreheads together, a small smile (</span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span>) gracing his lips. “I’m…” Blaine bit his lip, nudging the tip of their noses together lightly. “I’m crazy about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt huffed out a quiet laugh, the words piercing through his chest. “I’m crazy about you, too.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>When Blaine woke up the next morning, he was alone, the other side of the bed already disappointingly cold. He blinked his sleepy eyes open slowly and sighed, gazing at Kurt’s vacant pillow. He wrinkled his brow when he saw a post-it note stuck to the top. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed his eyes for a few more seconds, the dreary lull of sleep threatening to drag him back under, before he reached up and grabbed the post-it. He read the note through sleep-dust lined eyes and chuckled. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Had an early meeting to get to. Lunch date maybe? &lt;3 </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>-K xxx </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine sighed softly and stroked his thumb over the three kisses Kurt had signed after his initial, suddenly feeling much more awake than he had a few moments ago. Then, he heard his phone begin to ring on his bedside table. It was probably Kurt, he thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He picked his phone up and answered it without looking, greeting Kurt with sleepy confidence. “You didn’t kiss me good morning.” Silence on the other line. Blaine furrowed his eyebrows and sat up. “Kurt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um… no, sorry.” The voice on the other end laughed, high-pitched and familiar. “Blaine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” Blaine said, feeling himself blush down to the center of his chest. “I-I’m so sorry, I thought this was someone else. Who’s this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Quinn Fabray,” the voice said. Blaine could clearly hear amusement in her voice. “This </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> still Blaine Anderson’s number, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Quinn Fabray. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes! Y-yes, it is.” Blaine rubbed his eyes and smacked himself in the forehead. “Quinn, hi! Long time no see. I think the last time we saw each other was--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“--When you quit </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hearth</span>
  </em>
  <span> and went to work with Rachel Berry.” The voice of his former boss was all too familiar; smooth and soft, but with that same sharp edge to it. He’d always feared and admired her in equal droves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. Even through the phone, it was like he could </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> her steely gaze on him. Suddenly, he felt exposed, sitting in bed in just his boxer briefs. “Right.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The both of them fell silent for a few moments before Blaine heard Quinn chuckle. He had to turn up the volume on his phone to make sure he’d heard correctly. “Are you free for lunch today?” she asked. “I’d love to catch up. I actually have something I’d like to talk to you about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he replied, “I had plans for lunch this afternoon but… I-I guess I could reschedule?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That would be great,” Quinn said, “1pm at Shuka?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine agreed and the call ended. Minutes after they hung up, Blaine remained in his bed, staring down at the phone in disbelief. He hadn’t heard from Quinn in three years, ever since he’d quit his job to work at </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stella</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d worked side by side for over six months, running the kitchen together like a well-oiled machine. She was an excellent superior to have, but Blaine couldn’t help but crave </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>; couldn’t help but yearn for control of his own. That was why he’d taken Rachel’s offer so quickly and wholeheartedly. How ironic that he’d left </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hearth</span>
  </em>
  <span> to gain more control… yet, he’d ended up losing it in the process.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quinn had never been anything but kind and professional to him. She’d even wished him good luck when he told her he’d handed in his resignation. She was an excellent chef, and at one point in his life, Blaine had considered her a very dear friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But why was she contacting him now?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head and ran his hands through his hair, sending Kurt a quick text message. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Blaine Anderson, 9:23am:</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>
      <br/>
    </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>Hey! Saw your note :) I can’t make lunch today but I can come over tonight after work? I can make something or we can order in</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Blaine Anderson, 9:23am:</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>
      <br/>
    </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>Ohh maybe Thai? I’ve been craving tom yum &lt;3 </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine waited a few moments for Kurt to reply. It became obvious after a minute or two that he wasn’t going to -- he was probably in his meeting right now -- so instead, Blaine put his phone back on his nightstand and shuffled out of bed so he could begin to get ready for his day. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>It had been three years since Blaine had seen Quinn, and in those three years she hadn’t changed a bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps that was a bit of an exaggeration. Her face had filled out just the slightest bit, her cheeks looking more pink and healthy than they’d been years ago. She still held the same amount of elegance and grace as she always had, but she seemed to be… glowing. The sunbeams coming through the window bounced off her perfect, blonde tresses, almost halo-like. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine smiled sheepishly as he approached her, entirely out of his depth. He placed a hand on the chair across from her and smiled, more genuinely, when she looked up from her phone. “Hi!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quinn grinned at him, putting her menu down. “Blaine!” she said happily. “It’s so good to see you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s um… it’s good to see you too, Quinn,” he said, placing his napkin over his lap and fiddling with the corner of it. “You look great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quinn chuckled and shook her head, casually tossing her hair over her shoulder. Her beauty was incredibly distracting, even for a gay man, Blaine thought vaguely. “Thank you,” she said, “so do you. Shall we order?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They took a minute to peruse the menu before placing their orders with the kind waiter. Once the waiter left, the two of them sat silently for a moment, though it didn’t feel uncomfortable. It felt… easy. Blaine cleared his throat and shuffled in his seat, leaning forward just a tad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quinn, can I ask…” he pursed his lips, “why did you want to see me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quinn raised her eyebrows. “Getting straight to the point I see,” she said with a quiet sigh. She paused, eyes scanning his face before she spoke again. “How’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stella d’Oro</span>
  </em>
  <span> doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine clenched his jaw. He could feel an all-too familiar sense of humiliation rise up the back of his neck. “I… </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stella’</span>
  </em>
  <span>s doing fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you happy there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wh--” Blaine felt his hackles begin to slowly rise. “I… what are you talking about? Of course I am, I just--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“--I read the reviews, Blaine,” Quinn said quietly, low and even. The slight smile never left her face. “The one from The New York Times </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>the one from New York Magazine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine didn’t respond, looking down in his lap as he felt his face begin to heat up with shame. He’d forgotten about how damn perceptive Quinn could be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You forget, we were friends once,” she said softly, “you were my sous chef, my right-hand man. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> you’re better than the work you’re doing with Rachel.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finally looked up. The look in Quinn’s eyes was soft, maternal almost. It pulled him in. “She… I…” Blaine floundered, throat feeling incredibly dry. “I didn’t forget we were friends.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quinn smiled. After a few seconds of tense silence, their food arrived. Despite the delicious smell of spiced chicken and sumac that wafted up into Blaine’s nose, he found he wasn’t the least bit hungry anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quinn pierced a piece of cucumber with her fork but didn’t eat it, keeping her eyes on Blaine. “Blaine, I’m gonna be honest, I’m not just here to catch up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine tried to distract himself by cutting a small piece of chicken and popping it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. He couldn’t taste a thing. “Then why are we here?” he asked after he’d swallowed, digging his nails into the palm of his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A smile grew on Quinn’s face as she reached into her purse and pulled out a small piece of cardstock and handed it to Blaine. Blaine looked at it for a moment before hesitantly taking it from her, scanning it slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A menu?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All the dishes are ones I came up with, but obviously as head chef, you would be able to make changes as you see fit, too,” Quinn replied, leaning forward on her elbows. “What do you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine put the menu down and looked at Quinn. “I… I-I don’t understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you do,” she said softly, taking the menu back and slipping it into her purse. “I’m opening a restaurant and I want you to come be my chef de cuisine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words echoed around in Blaine’s head for a moment, making him dizzy. “What?” he asked breathlessly. “Why? I would’ve thought you would want to be the head chef of your own restaurant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quinn hesitated, a small, gentle look on her face as she reached for her wallet. Blaine watched her dutifully as she opened it and pulled out a small, 2 x 3 inch picture of a baby girl with blonde hair and bright green eyes. She was instantly recognisable. “That’s my daughter,” she said with a blissful breath, “when my wife and I had her, it kind of shifted my perspective and my priorities. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> know I’m a great cook, I don’t so much feel the need to prove that anymore. I’m happy to just manage a team of chefs that I know and trust intrinsically.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled down at the picture for a moment before slipping it back into her wallet, stroking the clear plastic cover gently before putting her wallet away. “You’re the best chef I know, other than myself, and I wouldn’t want to start this journey with anybody else, Blaine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Before you say ‘no,’ at least let me make my pitch,” Quinn said, barely waiting for Blaine to give her the tiniest of nods. “It’s not going to be a fine-dining restaurant, it’s more like a quaint trattoria. I would be willing to give you full creative control over the menu, within reason of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine raised his eyebrows. Rachel hadn’t offered him full creative control when she’d poached him; she’d offered him benefits and stable hours and an actual </span>
  <em>
    <span>title </span>
  </em>
  <span>as head chef… but thinking back, she’d never seemed incredibly interested in Blaine’s opinion. “What would the hours be like?” he asked. He hated how intrigued he suddenly was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We would be open for six days a week. As of right now the specific hours are up in the air,” she explained, “but we were thinking of having two separate services for lunch and dinner.” Quinn paused, clasping her hands in front of her. “What do you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine was silent for a very long time, idly poking at his food as he tried to process an entire bout of new information. Quinn’s offer sounded incredibly compelling, but there were other factors he had to think about. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stella</span>
  </em>
  <span> wasn’t doing well; he wasn’t an accountant or business-minded at </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he could feel it. Each night drew less and less orders, sweaty foreheads and tired hands were slowly being replaced with sluggish limbs and more time spent idly standing around -- something that should never be done in a kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, could he justify leaving his friends and employees behind for a new, more compelling offer? What would happen to Wes? Mason and Jane? Kitty? Still, the hope and excitement of something </span>
  <em>
    <span>new</span>
  </em>
  <span> tugged at Blaine’s chest the longer he thought about Quinn’s offer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll have to think about it,” he said carefully, chewing on his words. “It’s not a ‘no,’ but… I-I don’t know if I can give you a ‘yes’ just yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quinn nodded and reached over, giving his hand a gentle pat. “Of course,” she said, “you can reach out to me anytime, to talk about this or anything else.” She hesitated before giving him a smile that made Blaine feel warm. “We’re still friends, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine smiled back at her, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Right.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <a href="https://panlasangpinoy.com/arroz-palabok/">
    <b>Chapter Recipe: Arroz Palabok</b>
  </a>
</p><ul>
<li><span>1 cup rice washed</span></li>
<li><span>1 piece Knorr Shrimp Cube</span></li>
<li><span>10 pieces shrimp</span></li>
<li><span>1 cup chicharon</span></li>
<li><span>4 pieces eggs</span></li>
<li><span>1/4 cup tinapa flakes</span></li>
<li><span>1 piece onion minced</span></li>
<li><span>4 cloves garlic minced</span></li>
<li><span>1/4 cup toasted garlic</span></li>
<li><span>1/4 cup annatto oil</span></li>
<li><span>4 cups water</span></li>
<li><span>Patis and ground white pepper to taste</span></li>
</ul><p>
  <span>Boil shrimp in 2 cups water for 30 seconds. Set the shrimp aside. Save the water for later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heat annatto oil in pot. Saute garlic until it starts to brown. Add onion. Continue sautéing until soft. Add rice. Cook for 30 seconds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pour water used to boil shrimp along with the remaining water. Let boil. Add Knorr Shrimp Cube. Stir. Add tinapa flakes. Stir occasionally and cook in low heat until the rice gets fully cooked and the texture becomes mushy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Season with pats and ground white pepper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Transfer to a serving bowl. Swirl some annatto oil on top and then top with chicharon, shrimp, toasted garlic, tinapa flakes, and green onions. Serve hot. Share and enjoy!</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Tom Yum Goong</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>a short lil chapter, but important nonetheless! since this chapter is so short, i might upload the next chapter tomorrow instead of the day after!! </p><p>also: tom yum goong is literally my favourite soup in the WORLD if u haven't tried it and ur fond of spicy, salty, sour-ish soups then 10/10 WOULD RECOMMEND </p><p>happy reading everyone!! comments and kudos are always appreciated &lt;3</p><p>- Brit xx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>As soon as Blaine arrived at Kurt’s apartment that night, Kurt could tell something was off. When he’d walked in, there was a distant, distracted look in his eye. He’d kissed Kurt on the cheek in greeting before walking over to the couch, sinking into it. He didn’t even notice Diva as she tried to slink her way around his ankles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Kurt said quietly, walking over to the couch and sitting beside Blaine. “I ordered Thai.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine nodded in response, but didn’t speak, staring off into the distance. Kurt pursed his lips. Diva seemed to sense the tension in the room and maneuvered her way out from between Blaine’s ankles and padded over to her bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got you tom yum with noodles.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Extra spicy, just like you like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The delivery boy on the other end of the phone offered me his body in exchange for money.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine looked up at that, furrowing his eyebrows and giving Kurt a confused smile. “What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt chuckled and wrapped his arm around Blaine’s back. “Just trying to get your attention,” he said cheekily, “what’s going on?” Blaine didn’t respond immediately, sighing and rubbing the bridge of his nose with his index fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The longer Blaine stayed silent, the more Kurt’s anxiety grew. He couldn’t have found out about Kurt being Pavarotti… could he? Who would’ve told him? “Blaine--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got offered a job,” he said finally, resting his chin in his hands. Kurt furrowed his eyebrows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Kurt asked, letting himself relax just the tiniest bit. He could still feel the anxiety buzzing in the tips of his fingers, but he allowed his shoulders to drop. “Where?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine breathed out slowly and sat back on the couch, squeezing his fingers until his knuckles turned pink. “An old coworker of mine reached out to me,” he said. “She’s opening a restaurant. She wants me to leave </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stella </span>
  </em>
  <span>and be her head chef.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt felt like the wind had gotten knocked out of him. If Blaine were to quit his job… well, that would certainly absolve </span>
  <em>
    <span>some </span>
  </em>
  <span>of the guilt that was festering, dark and bitter in his chest. He knew Blaine was better than </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stella</span>
  </em>
  <span>; he deserved more than to be pushed around by a tiny tyrant who thought her word was law. After tasting what Blaine could make when he was uninhibited, Kurt </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was an excellent chef. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you gonna take it?” he asked, hoping the shakiness in his voice wasn’t obvious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Blaine said quietly, looking at Kurt for the first time since he’d arrived. “I’ve been thinking about it all night. I even flubbed an order and I </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt sucked on his teeth, reaching over and grabbing one of Blaine’s hands. “Maybe… maybe you’ve been thinking about it so hard because you wanna take it,” he suggested slowly, biting his lip. “I mean… I’m assuming you didn’t reject the offer, otherwise you wouldn’t still be thinking about it, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I didn’t reject the offer,” Blaine said. His hand was still limp in Kurts, not reciprocating the touch. “I told her I’d think about it, and I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but… I-I can’t just leave </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stella</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine shook his head, eyebrows furrowed. “No,” he replied, pulling his hand out of Kurt’s grip. “I… I couldn’t do that to them, leave them in the lurch like that. How could I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt’s hand felt cold without Blaine’s warm touch. “But this opportunity could be so </span>
  <em>
    <span>amazing </span>
  </em>
  <span>for you, Blaine, I… you deserve so much better than how Rachel’s been treating you,” he said carefully. He could feel Blaine getting tense. “You’ve been complaining about her for weeks now!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“People complain about their bosses all the time, Kurt, it doesn’t always mean they wanna quit their jobs,” Blaine snapped. He stood up and walked away from Kurt, covering his face for a moment. His jaw was clenched and his shoulders were stiff. “I spent three years with them, they’re… they’re my family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt stood up and slowly walked towards Blaine, stopping just a foot short of him. “If they’re your family, they’ll support you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> that, Kurt.” Blaine’s voice sounded almost desperate now; frustrated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt sighed softly. “I know that if they love you, they’ll understand.” He could feel his heart shaking violently in his chest. He wasn’t entirely certain if he was talking to Blaine or to himself at this point. “Blaine, you’ve been talking about how frustrated you’ve been at </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stella</span>
  </em>
  <span> and at Rachel for </span>
  <em>
    <span>weeks</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Don’t you think this is, I don’t know, a-a sign?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A sign that what?!” Blaine retorted, crossing his arms defensively. “That I should just up and leave my friends when the going gets tough? Is that the kind of leader you think I am, Kurt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to be strong for everybody, Blaine,” Kurt said. “It’s okay to think about what you want, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> what I want.” Blaine fell silent then, arms dropping tiredly to his sides. He didn’t seem frustrated anymore, Kurt thought. He just looked… resigned. He rubbed his top lip slowly, looking down at the carpet -- where Diva was sitting on her pet bed, looking utterly unbothered by their argument. “I think I’m gonna go home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?!” Kurt asked, distraught. “But you just got here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine shook his head and walked over to the door, eyebrows still closely knitted together. Kurt followed close behind. When he reached the front door, he turned to face Kurt and looked at him for a moment, almost as though he were studying him. Then, he tentatively reached out and brushed their hands together. The light touch made the tiniest burst of hope shoot through Kurt’s chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not angry at you, okay?” he said quietly. “I’m sorry that I lashed out.” Blaine squeezed Kurt’s hand lightly before pulling away. “I need to be alone right now. I need to think.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaned forward and kissed the corner of Kurt’s mouth. The kiss was so brief that Kurt barely noticed it; didn’t even have time to drink in Blaine’s scent or the softness of his lips. It was just a light brush, and then he was gone, out the door and into the night with barely a trace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, like some kind of sick irony, the food delivery boy walked up to Kurt’s already open door, a bewildered and uncomfortable look on his face. He knocked on the open door lightly and held up a plastic bag filled with containers. “Um… takeout for Kurt?” he said timidly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt looked just past the delivery boy’s shoulder at the sidewalk, where Blaine could no longer be seen, before focusing on the man in front of him. He reached for his wallet with a resigned sigh and handed him a $50, grabbing the bags and waving at him to keep the change before shutting the door tightly behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled out the containers and lifted the lid on the bowl of soup he’d ordered for Blaine, staring down at it sadly. Perhaps he was being selfish. Did he want Blaine to leave </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stella </span>
  </em>
  <span>for his own sake or for Kurt’s? Could the answer be both? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he unpacked the rest of the containers from the plastic bag, he barely registered the heat of it against his hands, mind reeling with thoughts and contradictions that Kurt didn’t even want to begin to process.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <a href="https://www.thaicookbook.tv/thai-recipes/soups/tom-yum-goong-spicy-sour-soup-with-prawns/index.php?ac=1">
    <b>Chapter Recipe: Tom Yum Goong Soup</b>
  </a>
</p><ul>
<li><span>4 Large River Prawns or any other kind of shrimp</span></li>
<li><span>1 Cup Straw Mushrooms, cut in half</span></li>
<li><span>1 inch piece Galangal root, cut into thin pieces</span></li>
<li><span>1 stalk Lemongrass, bottom portion cut into ¾ inch pieces</span></li>
<li><span>1/4 Small Brown or Yellow Onion, thinly sliced</span></li>
<li><span>1 Green onion, cut into 1-inch pieces</span></li>
<li><span>3 - 4 leaves Cilantro, cut into 1-inch pieces</span></li>
<li><span>3 - 4 Small Thai Hot Chili, whole chilis, broken open</span></li>
<li><span>4 - 6 Kaffir Lime leaves (whole + stem)</span></li>
<li><span>4 small Cherry Tomatoes or tomato wedges</span></li>
<li><span>2 Thai Hot Chili, finely crushed with seeds in</span></li>
<li><span>1 Tablespoon Thai Roasted Chili Sauce (Nam prik pao, or Thai chili oil)</span></li>
<li><span>1/4 Cup evaporated milk (unsweetened)</span></li>
<li><span>2 teaspoons fish sauce</span></li>
<li><span>2 teaspoons Coconut Sugar</span></li>
<li><span>2 Tablespoons Lime juice</span></li>
<li><span>1 teaspoon Salt</span></li>
</ul><p>
  <span>Boil 2 cups of water in a small pot or pan. Add the galangal, lemongrass, onion, and crushed red hot chili. Boil for 1 minute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Add shrimp and bring back to a boil. Add mushrooms and sugar, and boil everything for 2 minutes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Season to taste with lime juice and fish sauce, balancing salty and sour flavor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Add the kaffir lime leaves, green onion, culantro, and tomatoes. Add the Nam Prik Pao sauce and stir it in well. Then add evaporated milk and stir again until well blended. Serve immediately.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Ginger and Matcha Affogato</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>WOO longer chapter!! i know yesterday's chapter kind of left some of y'all on tenterhooks so i hope this chapter does somethin to ease that for the time being!!! also reading everyone's comments is literally the best part of my day so thank you so much! i don't reply to them but i read and love every single one :')</p><p>we're almost there! only 3 chapters left!! i hope y'all are ready!!! i can't wait to see what u think!</p><p>comments and kudos are always appreciated! if y'all have any questions about the fic or just wanna send an ask, my tumblr is @byebyeblainey &lt;3</p><p>- Brit xx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They didn’t talk for the entire day after night Blaine had stormed out of Kurt’s apartment. Despite the short amount of time they’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> been together, Blaine found he’d forgotten what it had felt like not to have Kurt in his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He arrived at work after a day of radio silence, his mind racing to the point of pain. When he entered the kitchen, he saw Rachel standing there, eyes glued to her phone. Blaine paused and sighed, the pounding in his head suddenly getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>worse.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Afternoon,” he said cautiously, hiking his bag further up his shoulder. “Is everything okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as she heard Blaine speak, Rachel whipped around and looked at him, an almost terrifying look of determined force in her eyes. “Blaine! Perfect timing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine looked down at his watch and raised his eyebrows. “This is when I always get here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No matter,” she said, “I need to speak with you in my office.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, okay,” he replied, “just let me get changed and clock in and I’ll--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“--</span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> please.” Her voice was firm. Blaine knew better than to argue with her; so, he carefully placed his bag on the bench in the changing room and followed her to her dimly lit office. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sat down at the chair across from her desk, bracing his hands on his knees. There was something unsettling in the air as he watched Rachel sit down in her desk chair, not saying a word all the while. “Um… is everything okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quite frankly, Blaine, no,” she said, turning to face him, one hand on her desk and the other on her hip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Um… what’s going on?” he asked uncomfortably. An angry breath rushed out of Rachel’s nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aside from an utterly disastrous meeting with my husband and our couples therapist, I just wanted to call you in early so we could have a little chat.” Rachel sat down at her desk and stared at Blaine. “How are you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine raised his eyebrows, feeling about three inches tall under her scrutinizing glare. “Um… I’m okay,” he said slowly, “I’d be better if you just told me what this meeting was about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you insist,” she said. “We need to make some changes to the way we do things and I need you to be the one to notify the staff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A feeling Blaine could only describe as dread soaked him from head to toe. “Um… okay,” he said slowly. “What changes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel opened her computer and quickly typed in her password, doing nothing to ease Blaine’s worries. “First of all, did you know that our product and ingredient budget takes up over 70% of our expenditure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> be true--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And because of that, I have decided that we’re going to change vendors from Flanagan Food Services to this company.” She turned her laptop around to show Blaine the webpage. Blaine squinted at it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Smythe Food Production Inc.?” he asked softly, leaning forward and scrolling slowly. “I don’t know about this, Rach, it looks a little shady.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve read every single testimonial on their site and it looks like they’re completely safe and certified,” she said, snapping the lid on her computer shut. Blaine barely pulled his fingers from the trackpad in time, “and switching vendors means that we can save up to $700 a </span>
  <em>
    <span>month</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every nerve in Blaine’s body told him to protest. Some things were sacred, freshness and safety being two of those things; but the worried lines on Rachel’s forehead betrayed her seemingly upbeat tone of voice. Blaine couldn’t bring himself to disagree with her. “Okay,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “If you say so.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mind screamed at him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why are you taking this when you don’t have to? Why are you letting her ruin everything you helped build? Why aren’t you standing up for yourself?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But then, Rachel smiled at him, and for a moment Blaine saw the tension in her shoulders relax some. “I’m glad we’re on the same page,” she said, “I’m going to need you to tell everyone about the change.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you’re more personable. They listen to you,” Rachel said, spinning her wedding ring around her finger slowly. “I thought if you were the one to tell them, everyone might take it better. I don’t think the others like me very much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine smiled sympathetically, reaching out and tentatively patting her hand. “Rachel, the others like you just fine. I think they just find you… intimidating.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel shrugged, though it looked incredibly forced. “Well, people have been saying that to me since high school. I didn’t get a starring role in a Broadway production at 20 by being passive and ambitionless.” There was a look on her face that Blaine just couldn’t discern. She looked… sad. “Also, we’re taking the pecorino ravioli and the matcha affogato off the menu starting tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “What?!” Blaine exclaimed, “I… Rachel, that… the matcha affogato was the only item that Pavarotti </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked! </span>
  </em>
  <span>And Wes and I worked on that ravioli recipe for weeks, it was the first thing on the menu when we opened!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blaine, do I need to remind you who writes your paycheck every month?” Rachel said sharply. Blaine could feel the frustration building up in his temples. He clenched his hands into tight fists, nails digging into the palms of his hands. “You can go get ready for prep now, unless you have any other problems with the way I choose to run my restaurant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine huffed, giving Rachel one last indignant look before walking out of her office and into the kitchen. When he walked back into the changing room, he saw Mason, scrolling through his phone. He mustered up a small smile and grabbed his bag off the bench. “Afternoon, Mason,” he said pleasantly as he opened up his locker. “You’re early today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mason looked up from his phone and smiled at Blaine, turning his phone off. “Oh! Yeah, Jane and I were doing a cake tasting that ended early, so I decided to head over here first.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hummed as he grabbed his chef’s jacket from his locker and slipped it on over his t-shirt. “Right.” He'd completely forgotten about the wedding. “How’s wedding planning going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the mention of the wedding, Mason grinned, a bright sparkle in his eye that Blaine couldn’t help but smile at. “It’s going great! We um… we actually booked a venue for the 19th of April.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow… next month, huh?” Blaine replied, raising his eyebrows slowly. “Things are moving pretty fast for you two, aren’t they?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mason looked back down at his phone, a small smile on his face. He shrugged before glancing back at Blaine. “She’s the love of my life,” he said softly, “I would marry her tomorrow if I could.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something about the gentle nature of Mason’s voice shocked the air out of Blaine’s lungs. He was so sincere, so starkly in </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>in a way that made Blaine’s chest ache. It made him think of… He cleared his throat and finished buttoning up his shirt. “Of course,” he said, a smaller, more genuine smile growing on his lips. “I’m really happy for you too, Mason.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Mason said, running a hand roughly through his hair. “The invitations are going out tomorrow!” He hesitated, turning to his locker and pulling his own chef’s jacket out before turning back to face Blaine. “I’ve been meaning to ask, do you think you’ll need a plus one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question gave Blaine pause for a moment. He wondered if it was too soon to wonder if things with Kurt would get more serious. It had only been three weeks, but the more and more time they spent together, the more Blaine thought… maybe he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>things to get more serious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled at Mason and nodded. “If that’s okay with you and Jane, I… I think I will need a plus one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it was a little bit presumptuous to think about their relationship so far in advance, but Blaine was definitely willing to take that chance.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Kurt tried to keep himself busy all day to keep his mind off of the fact that he hadn’t spoken to Blaine since last night. He’d drafted his next two reviews, made reservations, and stared at his schedule for almost an hour, reading and re-reading all of his meetings and commitments in lieu of thinking about Blaine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t work. Somehow, he still constantly found himself thinking about Blaine and about last night, when he’d left Kurt’s apartment. He couldn’t help but feel worried for Blaine. He knew he was about to start work in a few minutes and he could only imagine the amount of stress he was under. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaned back in his desk chair, rubbing his forehead tiredly and letting his eyes slip closed. He heard his office door open quietly and he sighed, opening his eyes. He smiled politely when he saw Marley standing at his door, looking sheepish as she peeked into his office, a piece of paper in her hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Afternoon, Mar,” he said softly, sitting up properly. “Have you had lunch yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marley shook her head and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “No, I-I was just about to,” she replied, “if you need me to stay I can!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No need, you go enjoy your lunch.” He looked back down at his computer. Marley remained standing at his door timidly. Kurt looked up, an amused smile playing on his lips. “Something wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, um… n-no, you just… I sent you an email.” She stepped fully into his office and wrung her hands together. “As soon as I sent it, I realised I should probably have just… asked you in person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt furrowed his eyebrows and chuckled quietly, opening his email app on his screen and seeing one new message on top of the hundreds of unread emails. “Vacation day application?” he said, reading off the subject line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marley nodded vigorously, her dark brown curls bouncing around her shoulders. “Two friends of mine got engaged a few weeks ago,” she said, nervously fiddling with her fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt furrowed his eyes. He vaguely remembered having a conversation about that with Marley a few weeks ago, but the days seemed to pass like seconds. It felt like it had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>forever</span>
  </em>
  <span> ago. “I remember you telling me about that,” he said slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The bride, my friend Jane, asked if I could be one of her bridesmaids,” she said, “the invitations haven’t been sent out yet, but they’ve confirmed the date and everything. I just wanted to send you my application to get the day off as soon as I could.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt opened Marley’s email and smiled, trying his best not to chuckle at the overly formal language. He leaned back in his chair and nodded. “Marley, of course you can have the day off,” he said. “No email required.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marley grinned. “That’s great, thank you so much!” She was about to leave, opening the door wider and poked her head back through. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She produced the piece of paper and handed it to Kurt. “This is the new list of restaurants that was sent by the editor-in-chief for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt looked at the paper in her hand before taking it reluctantly, a smile on his face that felt more like a grimace. “Thanks, Mar.” He looked at the paper and sighed, placing it on his desk before giving Marley a slightly more genuine smile. “Go ahead and take a long lunch today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marley grinned and gave him an awkward wave before rushing out of his office, closing the door tight behind her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she left, Kurt stared blankly at the sheet of paper, the names, addresses, and details of restaurants all typed out in neat grid-form. It was just so routine, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>boring. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Just looking at the list made Kurt want to sigh… or yawn. Or </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he opened a new web browser and began typing in the name of the first restaurant on the list, his eyes drifted just slightly to the left of his laptop where, in the top left-hand corner of his leather desk pad, sat a business card.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Isabelle’s business card.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been sitting there since the night they’d bumped into each other at Elliott’s show, almost a month ago. Kurt stared at it guiltily, remembering how he’d promised (or been asked) to call Isabelle and set up a lunch date. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He still hadn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He picked the card up, the corners of the cardstock digging into the pads of his thumb and index finger</span>
  <span>. </span>
  <span>He hadn’t used it yet. He kept meaning to; he put it on his desk specifically so he would remember… but it eventually just began to blend into the background with his other papers and stationary. Eventually, Kurt just forgot it was there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until now.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Isabelle Wright</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Editor-in-Chief at Vogue.com</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>212-328-8305</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <a href="mailto:IsabelleWright@condenast.com">
    <em>
      <span>Isabelle_Wright@vogue.com</span>
    </em>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>One World Trade Center, New York, NY 10007, United States</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt stared at the number for longer than necessary. Apparently she hadn’t changed her phone number since Kurt left. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his contacts, scrolling until he reached Isabelle’s name. It had sat in his contacts for three years, gathering metaphorical dust. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could second guess himself, he tapped the ‘call’ button and lifted the phone to his ear. His heart was pounding hard in his chest the longer the phone rang, the sound of the tone ringing through his ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He jolted up in his seat. “Isabelle, hi!” Kurt said, closing his eyes tightly when his voice came out louder than he’d anticipated. “I-It’s Kurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was silence on the other end for a moment. Kurt could hear quiet rustling and some incoherent whispering and muttering before Isabelle came back. “Kurt?” she said. Kurt thought he could hear the smile in her voice. “Hi! How are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt smiled, letting out a quiet breath. “I’m good,” he said, looking down at his desk and digging his nail into his leather pad, rubbing his finger over the imprint his nail left behind. “How are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I would’ve been better if you’d called me sooner!” she said jovially, a quiet giggle in her voice. “Oh, it’s so nice to hear from you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nice to hear from you too,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner, things have just been a little busy with work and… everything.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Isabelle hummed softly. “I understand completely,” she said. She hesitated before speaking again. “Listen, Kurt, I would love to catch up. Maybe tomorrow morning? We can have coffee!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt sucked his lower lip into his mouth, scraping the edges of his teeth against it as he thought about Isabelle’s offer. “Sure, I’d love to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One thing, though,” Isabelle interrupted quickly. “Would you mind coming to my office in the morning?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t even walked </span>
  <em>
    <span>past </span>
  </em>
  <span>the Vogue office since he’d quit. “I… sure, I guess so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great.” There was something mischievous in Isabelle’s voice when she responded. Kurt elected to ignore it, though he couldn’t help but feel suspicious. “10am work for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt agreed and they both hung up. For a while after the call disconnected, Kurt just sat there,  staring at his phone. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, but one thing was for sure; he was no longer bored. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>As soon as the last customer was out the door and the doors were locked, Blaine turned his phone on and called Kurt. His fingers were almost itching with anticipation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt answered on the third ring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blaine,” he said. Blaine could hear a quiet kind of breathlessness in his voice that made his chest warm. “Hi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I come over?” he asked, working on unbuttoning his chef’s jacket one-handed. He locked eyes with Wes who tilted his head and gestured to the phone in Blaine’s hand. He smiled and </span>
  <span>mouthed ‘Kurt’ before focusing again, just in time to hear Kurt’s response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… yes, of course!” Kurt said. “Right now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Blaine replied, shoving his jacket into his bag and closing his locker with slightly more excited force than necessary. “Is that okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More than okay,” he replied softly. “Are you hungry? Do you want me to make something?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you give me a little time to run back to my apartment and grab some ingredients, I can come over and make something for you,” he said softly, leaning against his locker. Wes walked up to him slowly, a cheeky grin on his face. Blaine wrinkled his nose at him. “I… missed you today.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I missed you, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wes pouted, lifting his hands up to his face in an exaggerated, mocking motion as Blaine batted at him with his free hand. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll see you soon.” He hung up and shoved Wes lightly, a laugh bubbling up out of his chest. “Jackass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was that your lover boy?” Wes asked, throwing his chef’s jacket over his shoulder along with the strap of his bag. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine nodded, smiling down at his phone before he pocketed it. “Yeah, it was,” he said. “We kind of… we didn’t have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fight</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but I was dealing with something and I kind of stormed out of his apartment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah?” Wes asked, bumping shoulders with Blaine as they walked out of the restaurant together. “What was it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The thing that you were dealing with?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine froze. He hadn’t told Wes about Quinn’s offer yet. Normally, Wes would’ve been the first person he told, but he’d been so preoccupied with Kurt and thinking about the offer that he hadn’t even thought to tell him. Though, the idea of telling his best friend that he was quite possibly abandoning him to work for someone else scared Blaine </span>
  <em>
    <span>immensely.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I uh…” He stopped at the curb and grabbed Wes’s arm to keep him from walking. The street was dimly lit around them, a combination of the brisk night air and his own nerves making Blaine’s shoulders shake. “If you got an offer to work at a restaurant… other than </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stella</span>
  </em>
  <span>, would you take it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wes raised his eyebrows. Then he furrowed them, tilting his head in confusion. “What?” he asked. “I don’t know, it would depend on the circumstances.” Wes fell quiet for a moment before the thought finally clicked. “Did… did someone offer you a job?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine hesitated before nodding, dropping his hand and stuffing it into his pocket. “Do you remember when I messed up that order yesterday?” he asked. “That table ordered the bistecca alla fiorentina and I accidentally made and sent them a tagliata.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I remember Rachel yelling at you for 15 minutes while we all watched,” Wes said slowly. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, by the way. My cauliflower was burning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine laughed and shook his head. “It’s fine.” He looked down at his shoes before looking back at Wes, hands clenched into nervous fists. “Yesterday morning, I got a call from Quinn Fabray.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your ex-coworker?” Wes asked. Blaine just nodded before continuing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s opening a restaurant and she… she offered me a job as head chef.” Blaine bit his lip as he tried to gauge Wes’s reaction. “I’m thinking of taking it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were a few seconds of tense silence between them, a few seconds where Blaine wondered if he’d just ruined over a decade of friendship with his own selfishness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, Wes grinned and Blaine felt a pair of hands brace themselves on his shoulders. He was being pulled into a tight hug. He reciprocated once his soul reentered his body, wrapping his arms solidly around Wes’s back. A simple hug had never felt so nice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blaine, that’s fucking amazing!” Wes exclaimed, right into Blaine’s ear. Blaine winced but couldn’t find it in him to feel anything other than elation. Wes pulled away but kept his arms on Blaine’s shoulders, shaking him excitedly. “Oh, my God, that’s so awesome!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is?” he asked. His hands were trembling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course </span>
  </em>
  <span>it is!” Wes replied, dropping his hands finally. His grin, however, never faltered. “You don’t think so?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I was… worried, I guess,” he said quietly. “I didn’t want to make it feel like I was abandoning you guys.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wes sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned against the lamp post. “The last few weeks have definitely been… tense,” he said slowly. “A lot of us have been feeling like we’ve sort of reached the end of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stella’</span>
  </em>
  <span>s lifespan. At least, I know I have.” Wes hesitated. “You shouldn’t feel bad for considering another opportunity, Blaine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine’s lips perked up slightly but he couldn’t bring himself to smile. “Kurt said the same thing,” he murmured. “You know, I’m thinking of asking him to Mason and Jane’s wedding.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wes grinned. “That’s great, man!” he said happily. “I’m really happy for you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Blaine felt a thousand times lighter, like a heavy weight had been lifted off of his chest. He could feel relief that he’d never felt before. “So,” he started slowly, “what’s gonna happen to you if I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> leave </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stella</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wes’s smile softened and he shrugged. “You’re not the only one who’s been straying,” he said gently. “I have a couple job applications lined up that have been sitting on my computer at home.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “This month feels like it’s been the longest month </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine huffed out a laugh. “You’re telling me.” He glanced at his watch and cursed quietly. It was getting late and he still had to get ingredients from his apartment before heading to Kurt’s. “I’ve gotta get going,” he said, looking up at Wes. “Thank you, man.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They hugged tightly one last time, Blaine savouring the security for a moment before finally waving Wes goodbye. He rushed home to his apartment and started shoving ingredients into a reusable grocery bag. Energy was practically buzzing through his hands and feet.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Kurt walked to his door as soon as he heard the doorbell ring. He braced his hand on the doorknob as he tried to collect himself. Since his phone call with Blaine, he’d been just the slightest bit on edge. He hadn’t sounded angry -- in fact, he’d sounded excited -- but for some reason, Kurt could still feel his nerves making themselves known in the pit of his stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opened the door, revealing Blaine on the other side, holding a reusable grocery bag and wearing the brightest of smiles on his face. He looked gorgeous, as always, even if Kurt could tell from the way his hair was beginning to curl that he’d been at work not too long ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Blaine said quietly. He hesitated before gesturing towards the inside of Kurt’s apartment. “Can I come in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” Kurt quickly stepped aside and let Blaine in, eyes roving down his back appreciatively as he slipped his shoes off. “Hi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine turned and smiled at Kurt, gently placing the grocery bag on the floor. His eyes were sparkling under the dim lights of Kurt’s apartment. He leaned in and took Kurt’s hand, pulling him in for a light, chaste kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been barely a day since they’d seen each other, but suddenly kissing Blaine, felt like a glass of water in the middle of a drought. Kurt inhaled deeply, surrounded by the scent of cooking oil and fire and a familiar spiciness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Blaine said, slightly breathless after they pulled away. “I didn’t have time to shower after work.” Kurt wrapped an arm around Blaine’s neck, tangling his fingers in his now-loose curls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s okay,” he said, scratching the back of Blaine’s head fondly. “I’m just </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> glad to see you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine smiled, kissing him once more shortly. “So am I.” He looked down and picked his bag back up. “I brought stuff. I’m gonna make us some dessert.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Blaine backed away to walk to Kurt’s kitchen, Kurt trailed after him. “Ohh,” he said happily, watching as Blaine pulled out a small green jar, a tub of ice cream, and a container of ginger powder. “What are you making for us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine hesitated before looking at Kurt with a small, bittersweet smile. “I’m making my signature dessert,” he said. “Ginger and matcha affogato with white chocolate and macadamia nut ice cream.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Blaine said the name of the dessert, Kurt could feel his mouth begin to salivate. He remembered eating that exact dish on the night he’d visited </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stella</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That night seemed like </span>
  <em>
    <span>years</span>
  </em>
  <span> away now, though it had only been a few months. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been the only dish of the night that Kurt had actually liked. He remembered taking that first bite and audibly groaning as the flavours mingled and caressed his tongue. It had been the only dish he could </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched wordlessly as Blaine pulled a short, wooden whisk out of his bag. “Can I borrow your measuring spoons?” Blaine asked, opening the small jar. Inside was a fine, deep green, powder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt opened his drawer and handed the measuring spoons to Blaine, perking up when he was rewarded with a kiss. “So, um… do you make this often?” he asked, watching Blaine scoop a few teaspoons of matcha powder and ginger into a little bowl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do. Um… </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I guess.” Blaine chuckled and picked up the whisk, tapping it against the table as he looked at Kurt. “I forget, you haven’t visited my restaurant yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt laughed weakly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, if only you knew how wrong you were.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine spooned the ginger into the same bowl and added a few tablespoons of hot water into the bowl as well. “When I first got hired at </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stella</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I was in charge of curating the menu under a very vague brief. Italian fusion,” he explained as he wielded his whisk. He dipped the ends of the whisk into the bowl and began moving his hand back and forth expertly. It took everything in Kurt not to drool over Blaine’s arms as he listened to his story. “After a little thinking and researching, Wes and I came up with this. Have you ever had matcha before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt wanted to scoff but didn’t. He nodded instead. “A couple of times.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve reviewed at least seven different Japanese restaurants in Manhattan alone, of course I’ve had matcha. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew matcha had similar bitter notes to coffee, even if it had a different taste, so we tried pairing it with a little ginger and a sweet, homemade ice cream, and it just… worked,” Blaine continued, slowing down his motions once the liquid formed a thick paste. He picked up the bowl and held it up to Kurt’s face with a smile. “Smell that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt inhaled, humming pleasantly as the slightly grassy, bitter smell of the matcha mixed with the ginger. “Smells great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhmm,” he hummed, putting the bowl back down. He turned and opened Kurt’s cabinet, grabbing two of Kurt’s martini glasses. The domesticity of Blaine knowing exactly where to find  Kurt’s glass and silverware made his heart pound. “I talked to Rachel this afternoon.” Blaine’s voice sounded tight, now. Tired. Kurt reached out and gently rubbed his back, feeling the muscles in his arms work as he scooped the ice cream into the glasses. “She’s taking the affogato off the menu.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?!” Kurt exclaimed, unwillingly. He closed his mouth quickly and dropped his hand, clenching it into a tight fist by his side. “I… wh-why would she do that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine sighed heavily. “I don’t know. I asked her, but she just said it was her choice and I couldn’t argue. I mean she </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> the one paying me.” He poured the dark green sauce over the ice cream and slid one glass over to Kurt with a soft smile. “I guess if the population of New York won’t get to eat my affogato anymore,” he said, pressing a kiss to Kurt’s cheek, “at least you will.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt gave Blaine a flimsy smile as he reached into his drawer for two teaspoons. “Lucky me,” he said quietly, handing Blaine a spoon as he dug his own into the soft ice cream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It tasted exactly how he remembered. Soft, velvety, with that slight kick of ginger. The light bitterness of the matcha complemented the ice cream </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfectly</span>
  </em>
  <span>, waltzing on Kurt’s tongue. His eyes flickered towards Blaine who wasn’t eating his dessert. Instead, his eyes were on Kurt’s face in a way that made him blush. “What?” he asked once the ice cream had melted in his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like watching you eat what I make for you,” Blaine said before spooning a small serving of ice cream into his own mouth. “You make the cutest faces,” he continued after a few seconds. Kurt scoffed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do not!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You definitely do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt pouted and put his glass down, but not before taking another bite. “Well… I can’t help it,” he said, licking the sweetness of his lips. “You’re a really good cook.” He looked up just in time to see Blaine grin. His grin was enough to outshine the sun. Kurt never wanted to look away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Blaine said softly, pecking Kurt’s lips. His mouth was slightly sticky from the matcha and the ice cream, but Kurt didn’t care. When he pulled away, Kurt found himself chasing after him for more. “Listen, um… two of my coworkers are getting married in April.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine nodded. “Mhm, on April 19th.” He hesitated, stirring the remaining vestiges of ice cream and sauce around the glass. “The groom asked me if I needed a plus one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And do you?” Kurt asked in return, smirking lightly as he ate the last of his dessert. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine looked at him incredulously before putting both his and Kurt’s glasses down and taking both of Kurt’s hands. “Kurt Hummel,” he said, eyes bright and playful, “will you do me the honour of accompanying me to my coworker’s-slash-friend’s wedding?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt grinned and pulled Blaine close, pecking his lips. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said between quiet chuckles. He felt Blaine wrap his arms around his waist until his hands met at the small of his back. He relished in the warmth emitting from Blaine’s body. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <a href="https://bojongourmet.com/matcha-ginger-affogato/">
    <strong>Chapter Recipe: Ginger and Matcha Affogato</strong>
  </a>
</p><ul>
<li><span>2 teaspoons (about 3-4 g) matcha green tea powder</span></li>
<li><span>¾ teaspoon powdered ginger</span></li>
<li><span>6 tablespoons (90 ml) hot water (at 175ºF)</span></li>
<li><span>½ cup (120 ml) vanilla ice cream (regular or dairy-free) </span></li>
<ul>
<li><span>(The recipe says vanilla but if you want, you can use white chocolate + macadamia flavour like Blaine does!)</span></li>
</ul>
</ul><p>
  <span>Combine ginger and matcha in a small-ish bowl. Add a few drops of hot water and whisk to form a paste. Gradually add the rest of the hot water, whisking until smooth. Pour matcha over ice cream and serve.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Mint Chocolate Chip Wedding Cake</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i don't really have anything i wanna say to preface this chapter cause it's a bit of a doozy but i wanna say THANK YOU ALL for reading and going on this journey with me!! only two more chapters left after this one so we're almost at the finish! </p><p>reading your comments is always the best best BEST part of my day so i can't wait to see what you all have in store this time around!</p><p>comments and kudos are always appreciated! </p><p>- Brit xx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> just go with a classic dark tux, white shirt combo,” Kurt said, tearing off a portion of his croissant, “but that’s so predictable, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Isabelle hummed in agreement as she took a sip of her coffee. They were in her office, enjoying breakfast together. This was their third time having breakfast at Isabelle’s office since their initial phone call. Kurt almost couldn’t believe he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually </span>
  </em>
  <span>having breakfast with her after what had happened… but neither of them had brought it up. Kurt certainly wasn’t going to be the first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Isabelle said, leaning both of her elbows against her desk. “You want to stand out at a wedding without distracting from the bride and groom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly!” Kurt smiled as he took a sip of his mocha. This almost felt… normal; like they were two friends catching up rather than an ex-employee and employer. “The only problem is, I don’t really have any suits or tuxes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt shook his head. “I know every man needs at least one good suit in his wardrobe, but I’ve never really needed one.” He paused, smirking. “Unless you count my tux from senior prom, but… I doubt I could get that mailed in from Ohio in time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A contemplative look fell over Isabelle’s face as she looks at Kurt. Kurt shuffled in his seat, feeling slightly uncomfortable under the weight of her stare. “Why don’t I lend you something?” she asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Kurt asked, eyes wide. “You want to lend me a suit? Forgive me, Isabelle, but I don’t think you and I are the same size.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Isabelle snorted; for such a small woman, her laugh was so boisterous it could wake the dead. “Kurt, I mean from the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Vogue </span>
  </em>
  <span>vault.” She smiled at him, head tilted in a way that could only be described as mischievous. “We have plenty of men’s suits and tuxes on hand in your size.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought the vault was for employees only.” He said, tearing another piece off of his chocolate croissant as he waited for a response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt furrowed his eyebrows, looking up at her with a mouth full of pastry and melted chocolate. “What?” he said, slightly muffled around the chunk of croissant. He quickly wiped his mouth and hands clean of chocolate. Isabelle laughed again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kurt, if only employees are allowed to use the vault, and I’m letting </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>borrow something from the vault,” she said, bouncing slightly in her chair, “what do you think I’m trying to say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt’s heart was beginning to beat rapidly in his chest. “I…” he trailed off weakly. “You’re willing to make exceptions for really good friends?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Isabelle rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help the grin that grew on her face. “Kurt, I’m offering you a job!” If she noticed Kurt’s startled expression, she didn’t let it stop her from continuing. “Do you remember Cameron?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt grimaced. “Of course I remember Cameron,” he said. “He was the one who said my spread design ‘looked like it was designed by the mother of a toddlers and tiaras contestant’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, he quit! Actually, he was fired for reasons that I legally can’t speak about,” Isabelle continued. “I’m offering you his position as an art director here, Kurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I don’t understand.” Kurt’s voice was quiet, choked. It was a wonder Isabelle could even hear him. Isabelle’s smile softened and she reached over, grabbing one of Kurt’s hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kurt, you have a vision and style unlike </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> of my other employees,” she said. “You’re so talented, I’ve always thought so. When you quit, I was devastated, not just for myself but for your potential. When Cameron’s spot opened up, I didn’t want to take any interviews because I knew I wanted </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> for the job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But…” Kurt replied, his vision spinning, “Cameron hated my spread design. I was humiliated, I thought I could never work in fashion again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Isabelle sighed. “Cameron was threatened by you,” she said softly. “My biggest regret was not saying anything to him when he tore you down like that. He only disliked you because he knew you were twice as talented as he was, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> at such a young age.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt blinked rapidly. He looked down at his croissant and leaned back in his chair. He was confused, conflicted… but on some level, there was an element of excitement that he could feel, making its way to the surface from where he’d buried it. “I… can I think about it?” he asked, crumpling the napkin in his hand into a tight, tense ball. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Isabelle gave him a kind smile and squeezed Kurt’s hand one more time before letting go. “Of course,” she said gently. “But I really think you and I could do some great work together, Kurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt nodded and gave her a timid smile before gathering his trash and walking out of Isabelle’s office. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he made the trip back to his own office, he wondered… how on earth was he supposed to focus on work now?</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Blaine squinted at himself in the mirror, smoothing his hands down the lapels of the suit jacket he was trying on. It was simple, dark blue, with a matching tie and pocket square. He felt the slightest bit out of his depth as he looked at himself, putting his hands in his pockets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, man, you’ve been in there for like… way too long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine rolled his eyes but slid open the changing room curtain, revealing the suit to Wes, who was sitting on the bench in the men’s changing room in a tux of his own. “What do you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wes raised an eyebrow, playfully asking Blaine to turn around -- which he did, but not without an eye roll and chuckle. When Blaine turned back around, Wes smiled, shooting him a thumbs up. “It looks great, dude. Real classic.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think so?” Blaine asked, looking down at his wrist and fiddling with his cufflink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really think so,” Wes replied, smoothing out his own tie. He smirked. “You should send Kurt a picture.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine chuckled and turned back around, looking at his reflection. He supposed he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>look quite good… sort of suave, classically handsome. He certainly didn’t look </span>
  <em>
    <span>ugly</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He grabbed his phone from the pocket of his jeans and opened his camera, taking a quick picture. He looked at the picture and laughed when he saw Wes in the background, tongue stuck out, brandishing a peace sign. He sent it off to Kurt and smiled down at his phone for a moment before turning it off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he looked back up, Wes was staring at him with a soft look on his face. “What?” he asked, laughing nervously as he started taking the blazer off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” Wes said, standing up and sauntering towards his own changing room. “You just look really happy, that’s all. I’m really happy for you and Kurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine smiled, a light blush covering his cheeks. “It’s not like we’re the ones getting married, Wes,” he said, though the thought of matching tuxes and tiered cakes briefly flashed through his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but… I’m just glad you found someone to give all your love to,” Wes said, gripping the changing curtain lightly. “Lord knows you had way too much of it.” He disappeared into his stall, leaving Blaine alone, jaw dropped just the tiniest bit open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The word circled Blaine’s mind dizzyingly as he descended back into his changing room and began taking off the tux. He’d certainly been thinking about that word for a while… things with Kurt had gotten more serious and he’d even begun to feel like a permanent fixture in Blaine’s life, despite the short time they’d been together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes, when he looked at Kurt, he felt a gentle ache in his chest… like he was looking at the person he was meant to be with. Was that what love was? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine smiled as he hung the suit back up and changed into his street clothes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He guessed it was. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Blaine got to work early that night after tux shopping with Wes. He walked into the kitchen and sighed, looking across the familiar metal countertops and white tiled walls. It was drab. Devoid of colour, almost. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t help but think about Quinn’s offer every time he stepped into the kitchen, gazing upon the utensils and surfaces that had become so familiar to him, that had once reminded him of home. It was beginning to lose its sparkle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one else had arrived yet. Blaine made a quiet, resigned noise before walking to his locker and opening it up. Before he could put his bag inside however, he heard a sound that sounded suspiciously like a sob coming from the direction of Rachel’s office. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slowly closed his locker and approached the office cautiously. The sobbing turned into quiet sniffles and the occasional whimper as Blaine walked up to Rachel’s closed office door. He knocked twice, the volume of his own knuckles against wood shocking him. “Rach?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sniffling stopped and for a few moments, Blaine was surrounded by silence. He could vaguely make out the sounds of tissues being furiously pulled out of a box before he heard Rachel’s voice. “Come in,” she said, her voice wobbly and hoarse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine opened the door, shoulders slumping when he found Rachel sat at her desk. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy and her nose was pink, as if irritated from the way she was furiously blowing it. “Hi,” he said quietly, closing the door behind him. “Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel sniffed and wiped at her eyes with a tissue. She refused to make eye contact with him. “I’m fine.” As soon as the words left her lips, Blaine watched as her face began to crumple once again. He rushed to her side and awkwardly hovered there for a moment before placing a light hand on her shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel blew her nose roughly, doing nothing to absolve the redness. “Blaine,” she warbled, “do you think I’m an awful person?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?!” he exclaimed, eyebrows shooting up his forehead. “I… </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>, of course I don’t.” He </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>to tell her that she could be selfish and unreasonable at times… but that definitely wouldn’t help the situation. “What prompted that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel dropped the soiled tissue into the trash and sat back in her chair, resting her hands in her lap. “You don’t have to lie,” she said quietly, eyes glued to her desk. “I know I’ve made life hard for you guys recently.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine glanced at her desk, where two pieces of paper were sitting. One was a printed copy of Pavarotti’s review from The New York Times, the other was a review that Blaine didn’t recognise. It looked older, like it had been cut directly out of a newspaper. He leaned closer to inspect it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The paper’s headline read: “</span>
  <em>
    <span>A Star is Unborn: Why ‘Babs!’ Fails To Impress”</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He read a few lines before sighing, leaning against Rachel’s desk. “Why do you have this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel’s jaw clenched, her hands curling up to form little fists in her lap. “To remind myself why I’m here,” she said, “why I left Broadway and started doing… </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She looked down. Blaine could see new tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes. “Apparently I’m just as bad at this, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine shook his head. “Rachel, stop… you’re not </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad</span>
  </em>
  <span> at… at any of this stuff,” he said, crossing his arms. “The Broadway thing… I-I get it, you got your ego bruised, but most of the stuff they wrote in the review of your show was about the bad writing, not about your talent.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel fell silent for a moment, staring at the paper but not focusing on any of the words. “This was my first big win,” she whispered. “I thought once I got the role that I’d prove to everyone who doubted me in high school that I was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>winner</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that I was better than them. But I failed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine reached out and squeezed Rachel’s shoulder. “Everyone fails,” he said gently. “It only matters how you handle it.” He paused for a moment, leaning his hip against Rachel's desk. "Maybe you don't feel <em>ready</em> to go back to Broadway after what happened, but... you're a hard worker and I'll bet a brilliant performer. Any show would be lucky to have you back."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel sniffled and leaned into Blaine’s touch slightly. “I’m scared,” she whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s only because you care. I mean... do any of us ever really feel ready to do the things we're too scared to?” Blaine released Rachel’s shoulder and stood back up, watching as something revelatory came over her face. “I’m going to get ready for prep. I’ll give you a few minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He left the office and shut the door tightly, smiling quietly to himself. As he began getting changed, he felt oddly serene. As he buttoned up his last jacket button, he grabbed his phone and typed out a message, sending it before he could second guess himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Blaine Anderson, 3:02pm:</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>
      <br/>
    </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>Hey Quinn, I would love to accept your offer. Can’t wait to work with you again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared at the sent message for a few moments, waiting for the feelings of dread and guilt to wash over him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They never did.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>On the day of the wedding, Blaine picked Kurt up, a lightly packed overnight bag on his shoulder as he walked up to his door. He smoothed down his pants and jacket before ringing the doorbell, waiting excitedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Kurt opened the door, Blaine’s eyes widened as he took in his appearance. He was in a deep green suit and white shirt that emphasized his slender figure and broad shoulders; but what drew his attention was the navy blue, floral pocket square and tie he was wearing. It seemed to match his own navy blue suit perfectly. He grinned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt reached forward and gently tugged on Blaine’s deep green tie, a small, delighted smile on his face. “Your tie matches my suit,” he said, voice quiet. “You look incredibly handsome.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine leaned in and kissed Kurt chastely, lifting his hand to cup Kurt’s face. “As do you,” he murmured, lip brushing against one another. He pulled away but took Kurt’s hand. “Ready to go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They hopped into a cab together, hands tightly clasped the entire time. They made quiet conversation, laughing to themselves and ignoring the strange looks the cabbie was giving them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mason and Jane had chosen to have their ceremony at a park where wooden, white-painted chairs were lined up in two neat rows, lined by twinkling fairy lights. The afternoon sun shone through the trees, casting pretty shadows around the chairs and the altar. The sight made Blaine smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything looks beautiful,” Kurt said, looking around with wide eyes. He smiled bashfully and turned towards Blaine, swinging their hands between them. “You know, when I was a kid I </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved</span>
  </em>
  <span> weddings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Blaine asked, guiding them towards a pair of empty seats. Kurt hummed and nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really. I used to marry and divorce my power rangers all the time. They were like Fleetwood Mac,” he said with a light chuckle. He sighed quietly and looked at Blaine. The look in his eye made Blaine positively </span>
  <em>
    <span>melt.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I guess I still </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> love weddings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So do I,” he said quietly, eyes flickering between Kurt’s eyes and lips. He leaned in and kissed his lips chastely. “Thank you for coming with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt grinned. “I wouldn’t miss your friends-slash-coworkers wedding for anything.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine’s smile faltered and he pulled away. “Well… just </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he said quietly. “Not so much coworkers anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I took Quinn’s offer,” he said, turning towards Kurt and brushing their knees together. “What you said that night was right. The guys at </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stella</span>
  </em>
  <span> are my family, and they always will be, but… I think I’m realising it’s okay to think about what I want too, sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt smiled at Blaine softly and brought his arm up, resting his elbow against the back of Blaine’s chair so he could reach up and stroke his cheek. “I’m proud of you,” he murmured, “and so happy for you! I know you’re going to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>amazing</span>
  </em>
  <span> at Quinn’s new restaurant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine smiled, leaning into Kurt’s touch. “Besides,” he continued, “you said that um… the people that l-loved me, would understand and… they did.” he stumbled around ‘love’, the word feeling clumsy in his mouth. Blaine knew that if he dwelled on it for too long, he would just end up saying something impulsive so he just smiled again, tilting his head to press a light kiss to Kurt’s fingertips. Kurt returned his smile, tracing his lips softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad,” he said quietly. “And besides, I’m always right, so…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine laughed and sat back in his chair, all the tension leaving his body in one fell swoop. Suddenly, he felt two hands clap down on his shoulders and he turned quickly, seeing Wes looking at him, a confused look in his eye. “Hey, man.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wes looked over at Kurt and smiled at him, giving him a little wave as he sat down in the seat behind Blaine. “Hi, Kurt,” he said pleasantly, before turning back to Blaine. “Blaine, do you have any idea why Rachel just asked me if I’d ever consider taking over </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stella</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine chuckled. Before he could answer, the music began to swell slowly and gradually. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>More and more guests started taking their seats and soon, the chatter quieted down to a low whisper. As they waited for the wedding party to come out, Blaine inched his hand towards Kurt’s and took it, resting their hands on his knee. Kurt turned to him and smiled playfully before turning his attention to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>adorable</span>
  </em>
  <span> flower girl prancing down the aisles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine watched the bridesmaids and groomsmen walk down the aisle, arms interlocked before they separated at the altar. There were some faces he recognised; Kitty, Roderick, and Mason’s sister Madison most notably. There was another person in the bridal party that Blaine didn’t recognise, a woman with brown flowing hair and an adorable smile on her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t given any time to dwell on the unfamiliar face before Mason began walking down the aisle with both of his parents in tow, all three of them fighting back tears. Blaine had to blink a few times himself to keep his eyes dry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, the music swelled. All the guests turned to watch as Jane, dressed in a gorgeous, white lacy wedding dress, came walking down the aisle with her father. She looked radiant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she walked down the aisle, Blaine couldn’t help but look at Kurt as he watched her, taking in the awed look on his face. He detected a hint of wetness gathering around the bottom of Kurt’s eyes and he smiled affectionately, pulling his handkerchief out of his pocket and subtly handing it to Kurt. Blaine had never seen anyone more beautiful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>what love felt like. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine could barely listen as the ceremony took place. His eyes were subtly glazed over as he watched Jane and Mason recite their vows. He loved Kurt. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Loved </span>
  </em>
  <span>him. The words made his heart pound so loud, he worried that the guests surrounding him would be able to hear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d never felt anything like this before with any of his past boyfriends. Looking back on them now, they all seemed totally insignificant when compared to Kurt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine squeezed Kurt’s hand lightly and smiled when Kurt bumped their shoulders together in response, never taking his eyes off of the bride and groom for even a second. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved</span>
  </em>
  <span> this man.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Soon after the ceremony ended, everyone was told to make their way to the reception location, a glass-walled conservatory not too far from where the ceremony had taken place. Kurt and Blaine’s hands remained clasped the entire time as they walked. They didn’t speak, but neither minded the silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt’s free hand rested in his pocket, wrapped around the handkerchief Blaine had given him during the ceremony. He stroked it with his thumb lovingly as he glanced at Blaine from the corner of his eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They reached the reception area and Kurt looked around appreciatively. There were fairy lights draped around the walls and even curled up into glass jars for decoration, casting a pleasant, ethereal glow over the space. The tables and chairs matched the ones outside, wooden and painted white -- though the tables were accented with bright splashes of yellow. On each table was a simple centerpiece; a clipped sunflower in a mason jar, a yellow satin ribbon tied around its neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a wooden stage and a dance floor in an area near the wedding party table. Kurt eyed it with intrigue before leaning closer to Blaine as they walked to their table, bumping their shoulders together. “That was really romantic,” he said softly. “Your friend makes a beautiful bride.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wasn’t she?” Blaine replied, smiling at Kurt cheekily. “I think you make a beautiful wedding guest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt rolled his eyes. “Silly,” he muttered, sitting down at their table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon enough, meals were served and drinks were drunk. Members of the wedding party </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>guests slowly began getting looser and giggly the louder the music became. Kurt watched pleasantly as Wes, Blaine, and Mason talked, scooping a piece of cake onto his fork. He hummed around it as the gentle bite from the mint frosting mixed with the gooey chocolate cake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A voice came over the speakers then, and Kurt looked towards the stage where Jane was standing. She’d since changed out of her formal wedding dress and was in a short, white romper -- the style of which Kurt approved of immensely. “Excuse me, everyone,” Jane said smoothly, her eyes searching the crowd, “but I would like to invite my husband…” she looked down, a grin of disbelief on her face, “um, wow… I’d like to invite my </span>
  <em>
    <span>husband</span>
  </em>
  <span> to the stage to sing a duet with me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mason grinned and patted both Blaine and Wes on the shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said quietly, before rushing towards the stage. Kurt chuckled at his enthusiasm. They really were an </span>
  <em>
    <span>adorable </span>
  </em>
  <span>couple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Music started to play, </span>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pQwhvrX5WL4">
    <span>a pleasant piano track </span>
  </a>
  <span>drifting over the crowd. When the opening notes started playing, Blaine got up from his chair. Kurt watched as Blaine threw Wes a wink before turning and offering Kurt his hand. “Dance with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt grinned and took Blaine’s hand, walking with him to the dance floor. He placed his hands on Blaine’s shoulders and pulled him close, nestling his nose into the corner just above Blaine’s ear where the gel in his hair was beginning to loosen. He sighed pleasantly as he felt Blaine’s arms wrap around his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They listened as Jane and Mason crooned together, singing in perfect harmony. The rest of the crowd melted away. All that mattered was the two of them, wrapped in each other’s arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You’ve already won me over, in spite of me,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Blaine sang along quietly, right into Kurt’s ear. His breath made a pleasant shiver travel down his neck, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>and don’t be alarmed if I fall head over feet.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt’s breath hitched and he pulled his head back to look at Blaine fully. Blaine was gazing at him so gently, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>lovingly</span>
  </em>
  <span> that it made the tips of Kurt’s fingers tingle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kurt, I--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kurt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were interrupted by a familiar, timid voice. When Kurt turned around, he was sure all the colour had drained from his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing in front of Kurt and Blaine was Marley, looking pretty as a peach in her yellow bridesmaids dress. She was smiling politely at the both of them, hands clasped in front of her uncomfortably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Marley!” Kurt said, hoping his voice didn’t convey the panic he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> feeling. He started putting two and two together, clenching one of his hands into a fist. “You… you’re here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marley nodded. “Yeah! Jane, Mason, and I are old friends from high school,” she said. “I didn’t know you knew them too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I don’t. Not really,” Kurt said weakly, gesturing to Blaine who gave Marley a friendly wave. “Blaine, um… my boyfriend invited me. He worked with Jane and Mason.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” Blaine said, stepping forward as if he knew it was his turn to speak. “I’m Blaine, it’s nice to meet you.” Kurt watched, horrified, as Blaine and Marley shook hands. “How do you and Kurt know each other?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Kurt’s my boss!.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, God. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine furrowed his eyebrows, but the smile remained on his face. He looked between Kurt and Marley for a moment before turning his attention back to Marley. “Oh, cool. What do you do?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All the blood began rushing to Kurt’s ears. It was like he could feel the walls closing in on himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m his assistant at The New York Times! But I wanna be a proper journalist one day,” she said, glancing at Kurt with an awestruck grin, “just like Kurt!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt didn’t even want to look at Blaine’s face. He didn’t want to see the moment the realisation hit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um…” Blaine said quietly. Kurt could feel Blaine’s eyes on him as he continued to talk to Marley. “What kind of journalism do you wanna do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not quite sure yet,” Marley replied. Her words were coming out slower, as if she was hesitant to answer. Like she could feel the way the tension in the air shifted. “I’ve read all of Kurt’s reviews, though. He’s a huge inspiration of mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reviews?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t know?” Marley asked, eyes frantically moving between Kurt and Blaine. Nevertheless, she fixed a polite smile onto her face and continued talking. “He’s the restaurant critic for the New York Times. You work in the food industry, maybe you’ve read some of his articles? His penname is--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“--Pavarotti.” The word escaped Blaine’s lips, quiet and low, a register Kurt had never heard before. He didn’t sound angry, that was maybe the worst part. He sounded… emotionless. Kurt finally turned to look at him for the first time since the conversation had started. It was like looking at a stranger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine’s eyebrows were knitted together, eyes hardened. His jaw was clenched. Kurt wanted to cup his jaw, gently stroke at his cheekbone to soothe the tension, but he knew now wasn’t the time for that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s… that’s it,” Marley said quietly. She laughed awkwardly, as if hoping to ease the tension. It didn’t work. “So… you </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me for a minute,” Blaine said tightly, before walking briskly past Marley and out of the conservatory. He didn’t give Kurt a second look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blaine, wait!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt brushed past Marley and chased after Blaine, his heart sinking to his feet the further away he got. He caught up to him at the clearing where the chairs from the ceremony were packed up and put away, ready to be taken. Blaine was standing in the middle of the clearing, his back to Kurt. Even with his blazer on, Kurt could see the tension in his shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blaine,” Kurt said quietly, his voice breathless, “please, just… just let me explain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Were you ever gonna tell me?” Blaine asked, finally facing Kurt. Kurt almost wished he hadn’t when he saw the disbelieving look on his face. “Or were you going to just lie to me for… for </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span> knows how long?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…” Kurt scrambled for the words, barely able to focus around the sound of his own heart. “I didn’t wanna hurt you.” Blaine just stared at him, mouth shut and eyes hard. “I knew you were upset about what I wrote, so I… I didn’t tell you it was me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You thought I was upset because of what you wrote?” Blaine asked quietly. He took a step towards Kurt but their proximity did nothing to calm Kurt’s nerves. “I couldn’t have cared less about the </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid </span>
  </em>
  <span>review, Kurt, you wrote it before we even met!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay…” Kurt said, bracing his hands on both of his elbows. “Then why are you upset?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m upset that you </span>
  <em>
    <span>lied</span>
  </em>
  <span> to me. You let me complain and vent and talk about that review and what it did to me, what it did to my restaurant. It… God,” Blaine replied, looking off toward the quickly darkening sky. “When did you realise? Did you know who I was when we met?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No! God no!” he said, his voice cracking. “Blaine, I had no idea who you were when we met, I didn’t find out until the morning after!” Kurt pressed his lips together, throat dry. “I didn’t tell you initially because… because I thought I’d never see you again. But then we bumped into each other that day, and… I got scared.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine’s shoulders slumped and he covered his face with his hands. They were both quiet for a moment, nothing but the sound of the brisk April breeze blowing around them as the sun set. “You could’ve told me so many times,” he said lowly, looking up, “but you didn’t. You let me think we were connecting and-and getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>serious</span>
  </em>
  <span> while meanwhile, you were keeping this enormous secret from me! That’s why you wouldn’t talk about your job or work or </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Blaine shook his head. Kurt could see the way his eyes were shining suspiciously and his chest ached. He wanted to touch Blaine, comfort him </span>
  <em>
    <span>somehow</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he couldn’t. He was rooted in place, unable to speak, touch, do anything. “I feel like I don’t know you at all suddenly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt’s eyes widened. “You do!” he said quickly. “You know more about me than anyone in my life, Blaine, I promise, I just… I didn’t want to hurt you.” He repeated his words from earlier but at this point they seemed futile. Blaine didn’t even look angry anymore; his eyebrows were slanted and his mouth downturned. He just looked so unbelievably </span>
  <em>
    <span>sad.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it backfired,” was all Blaine said before he turned on his heels and walked off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt could do nothing but watch through tears as Blaine got further and further away, until he was gone completely. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <a href="https://livforcake.com/mint-chocolate-chip-cake/">
    <b>Chapter Recipe: Mint Chocolate Chip Wedding Cake</b>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <b>Chocolate Cake:</b>
</p><ul>
<li>
<span>1 1/2 cup </span><a href="https://amzn.to/2VIqGLp"><span>all-purpose flour</span></a>
</li>
<li>
<span>1 1/2 cups </span><a href="https://amzn.to/2Yz8roM"><span>granulated sugar</span></a>
</li>
<li>
<span>3/4 cup </span><a href="https://amzn.to/2VtV4nR"><span>Dutch-processed cocoa powder</span></a><span> sifted</span>
</li>
<li>
<span>1 1/2 tsp </span><a href="https://amzn.to/2VLCCfl"><span>baking soda</span></a>
</li>
<li>
<span>1 tsp </span><a href="https://amzn.to/2Hm6d6m"><span>baking powder</span></a>
</li>
<li><span>1 tsp salt</span></li>
<li><span>1/4 cup vegetable oil</span></li>
<li><span>3/4 cup buttermilk room temperature</span></li>
<li><span>3/4 cup hot water</span></li>
<li><span>2 large eggs</span></li>
<li>
<span>2 tsp </span><a href="https://amzn.to/2VJ5PYr"><span>vanilla</span></a>
</li>
</ul><p>
  <b>Mint Chip Buttercream:</b>
</p><ul>
<li><span>5 large egg whites</span></li>
<li>
<span>1 1/2 cup </span><a href="https://amzn.to/2Yz8roM"><span>granulated sugar</span></a>
</li>
<li><span>1 1/2 cups unsalted butter cubed, room temperature</span></li>
<li><span>1 tsp mint extract</span></li>
<li>
<span>3 oz </span><a href="http://amzn.to/2nKGbRX"><span>good quality dark chocolate</span></a><span> chopped</span>
</li>
<li><a href="http://amzn.to/2qiaMnp"><span>green color gel</span></a></li>
</ul><p>
  <b>Ganache:</b>
</p><ul>
<li>
<span>2 oz </span><a href="http://amzn.to/2nKGbRX"><span>good quality dark chocolate</span></a><span> finely chopped</span>
</li>
<li><span>2 oz heavy whipping cream</span></li>
</ul><p>
  <b>Cake:</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Preheat oven to 350F, grease three 6" round baking pans and dust with cocoa powder. Line bottoms with parchment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Place all dry ingredients into the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a paddle attachment. Stir to combine. In a medium bowl whisk all wet ingredients (pour hot water in slowly as not to cook the eggs). Add wet ingredients to dry and mix on medium for 2-3 mins. Batter will be very thin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pour evenly into prepared pans. Bake until a cake tester comes out mostly clean. A total of 30-35mins. Cool 10 minutes in the pans then turn out onto a wire rack to cool completely. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Mint Chip Buttercream:</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Place egg whites and sugar into the bowl of a stand mixer, whisk until combined. Place a bowl over a hot water bath on the stove and whisk constantly until the mixture is no longer grainy to the touch (approx. 3mins). Place bowl on your stand mixer and whisk on med-high until the meringue is stiff and cooled (the bowl is no longer warm to the touch -- approx. 5-10mins).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Switch to paddle attachment. Slowly add cubed butter and mix until smooth. Add peppermint extract.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stop the mixer. Dip a toothpick into the </span>
  <a href="https://amzn.to/2qiaMnp">
    <span>green color gel</span>
  </a>
  <span> then dip it into the frosting. Whip until smooth and evenly green. Add more color gel if desired. Fold in chopped chocolate.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Ganache:</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Place chopped chocolate and cream into a microwave safe bowl. Stir to combine. Microwave for 20 seconds, stir. Microwave in 10 second intervals, stirring in between, until ganache is smooth and silky. Set aside to cool completely and thicken slightly before using on the cake.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Assembly:</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Place one layer of cake on a cake stand or serving dish. Top with about 2/3 cup buttercream. Repeat with remaining layers. Frost and smooth the outside with a thin crumb coat. Chill for 20mins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frost the top and sides of the cake. Using a small spoon, place dollops of ganache around the top edges of the cooled cake, allowing some to drip down. Fill in the top of the cake with more ganache and spread evenly with an offset spatula. Top with fresh mint if desired.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'M SORRY</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Tiramisu</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>last chapter before the epilogue (which i will be posting tomorrow!) forgive me if i get a little sentiMY PASTA IS OVERCOOKING</p><p>remind me never to cook while writing authors notes pls and thank you</p><p>anyway: to everyone who's given this fic a chance, i want to say thank you ENDLESSLY. the support and love i've received has been astronomical and it shocks me to know end that people loved this little story just as much as i did. i will say more in the author's note for the epilogue. in the meantime, enjoy the resolution!! i'm gonna go eat soggy pasta</p><p>comments and kudos are always appreciated &lt;3 <br/>- Brit</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It had only been a few days since the wedding, but each day that passed felt like it went on for an eternity. Kurt sat at his desk, staring blankly at his computer. His eyes were puffy and swollen from all the crying he’d done since the incident; the longer he stared at his screen, the more he felt a familiar pounding beginning to settle in his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was startled out of his daze by the sound of knuckles against wood. He focused his eyes and saw Isabelle’s hand resting on his desk. He mustered a small smile and looked up at her. “Hi, Isabelle,” he said. “What’s up?” He had accepted Isabelle’s offer the day of the wedding and was still trying to get used to the transition. Everything felt so new, yet oddly familiar all at the same time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Isabelle’s eyes scanned his face and she leaned forward, taking his chin between her thumb and index finger. “Are you okay?” she asked, tilting his face gently. “You look paler than usual.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Isabelle hummed, dropping her hand. “You don’t look fine,” she said, tutting concernedly. “Go home. You look like you could use some sleep and a face mask or too.” When he didn’t get up she shooed him, smiling playfully. “Go on. I’ll cover for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt let out a soft breath before nodding, smiling again; this time it at least felt genuine. “Thank you,” he said quietly, turning his computer off and slipping his bag onto his shoulder. “I’ll be okay by tomorrow, promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Isabelle simply smiled knowingly. “Take as much time as you need, honey.” As she walked away, Kurt felt vaguely remembered being a young boy again, being comforted by his mother after tripping and skinning his knee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After she was gone, he stood up and unplugged his phone from where it was charging on his desk. It always seemed to run out of battery in the middle of the day. In the back of his mind, he could hear Blaine’s voice chiding him playfully: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t charge your phone when you go to bed, Silly.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought made heat rise to the back of his eyes, making them prickle dangerously. He turned his phone on and couldn’t help the way his breath hitched when he saw a new notification. He quickly deflated when he realised it was just a text from Elliott.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Elliott Gilbert, 2:43pm:</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>
      <br/>
    </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>How’s my superstar doing? :D</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt chuckled at the message, but the sound felt hollow in his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Kurt Hummel, 2:45pm:</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>
      <br/>
    </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>Not great.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Elliott Gilbert, 2:45pm:</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>
      <br/>
    </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>Are you still thinking about you-know-who?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>From Kurt Hummel, 2:45pm:</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>
      <br/>
    </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>He’s all I can think about right now.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Elliott didn’t reply for a few moments and Kurt sighed, pocketing his phone and walking out of the building. Maybe he did need a nap.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>When he reached his apartment, he was shocked to find his door already unlocked and quiet music playing over his living room speakers. He stepped inside and felt a quiet wave of relief wash over him when he saw Elliott sitting on his couch, holding a bottle of wine and two glasses that were large enough to be bowls. Diva was perched comfortably in his lap, looking like she had no intention of moving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you get in?” Kurt asked, closing the door behind him. Elliott turned to Kurt and grinned, twisting the cap off the wine bottle with his teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know where you keep your spare key!” Elliott said once he’d spit the cap out. The sound seemed to disturb Diva and she mewled, hopping off of Elliott’s lap and sauntering to her pet bed. He poured Kurt the first glass, walking over and handing it to him. Kurt smiled tiredly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have a spare key.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, so maybe I had one made,” Elliott said with a shrug, pouring himself a glass as well. He tipped his glass forward and clinked it against Kurt’s, smiling at him softly. “I got your favourite; the sweet kind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt stared down into the glass and chuckled absurdly at the situation. He was in his apartment drinking what must’ve been at least half a litre of wine with his best friend, mourning a completely devastating and dramatic fight that might’ve ended one of the best relationships of his life. He couldn’t help but laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sniffed quietly once he was done laughing and leaned forward, resting his forehead against Elliott’s shoulder in an attempt to hide the tears that were beginning to form.  He didn’t have the energy to actually hug Elliott, so he hoped the minimal contact was enough. “Thank you,” he whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elliott lifted his hand and gently patted Kurt’s back, rubbing between his shoulder blades. They stood there for a few moments in silence. Kurt knew they probably looked ridiculous, half-hugging in the middle of his living room, but he didn’t care. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He got back up and swirled his wine around in his glass before taking a large gulp. The sweet, fruity taste of the wine coated Kurt’s tongue, but he barely tasted it. He looked at Elliott and sighed sadly. “I miss him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, Honey,” Elliott said, guiding the two of them towards the couch. “I know you do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt slumped down beside Elliott and curled into his side. “I messed everything up,” he said. “I should’ve told him everything from the start, but I was so scared of ruining everything.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elliott rubbed Kurt’s shoulder. “Have you tried contacting him? Apologising?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt nodded quietly, taking another slow slip. “A little,” he said sheepishly. “I said I was sorry and tried to explain myself but… it’s hard when it’s over text.” He shuffled in his seat, trying to get comfortable. “I just wish I could talk to him in person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt felt Elliott’s cheek resting against the top of his head and he sighed, allowing himself to feel minutely comforted by his best friend’s presence. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>After quitting his job at</span>
  <em>
    <span> Stella</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Blaine had scheduled a few free days for himself before he started working at Quinn’s. He’d scheduled these days with thoughts of relaxing, sleeping early for the first time in </span>
  <em>
    <span>years, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and snuggling up beside Kurt (as well as other more scandalous things). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But instead, he’d spent the past three days lying in bed with Mercury curled up by his side, eating ice cream straight from the carton. He knew he looked pathetic, but at that moment he couldn’t bring himself to care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d exchanged a few text messages with Wes, had even made it through a ten minute phone call before hanging up and blinking rapidly, trying not to think about his devastation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All the time spent alone in his bed gave Blaine ample time to do the thing he was best at: overthink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Had he been too harsh on Kurt? Held him up to an almost impossible standard? Maybe he’d let himself fall too quickly. He’d overlooked the parts of Kurt he didn’t know anything about in favour of choosing to love the little he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought back to the way Kurt’s face had crumpled just before he turned to walk away, the helpless regret in his eyes. It had taken everything in Blaine to not rush into his arms and cup his cheeks, kiss away the tears that threatened to fall… but he’d done it. He’d walked away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was beginning to regret that decision the longer he stewed in bed, the sticky taste of the ice cream souring in his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked down into his empty carton and sighed, dropping it onto the floor next to his bed. The sound of the cardboard clattering against the wood made Mercury’s ears perk up and Blaine sighed, reaching over and scratching his head gently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think, Merc?” Blaine asked, sitting up in bed as he began rubbing Mercury’s neck. “Should I call him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mercury simply leaned into Blaine’s hand, tail thumping against the bed rapidly. He huffed and whined quietly, tilting his head at Blaine. Blaine smiled in response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right,” he said quietly, “he probably wouldn’t wanna hear from me anyway.” He looked down at the empty ice cream carton on the floor and pursed his lips before throwing the covers off of himself. “Let’s get more ice cream.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mercury hopped off the bed and followed close, his snout brushing against Blaine’s calves as they walked to the door together. Blaine smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He may not have had a boyfriend anymore, but at least he had his dog. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>He pulled on a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt before putting on Mercury’s leash and heading out the door. He hadn’t bothered to shave or even gel his hair; why bother? The only person who would see him was the grocery store clerk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The weather was nice, but it did nothing to uplift Blaine’s mood. In fact, the bright April sun only made him feel worse. He watched a couple walking together down the street, hand in hand, smiling like they didn’t have a care in the world. He eyed them enviously, his grip on Mercury’s leash tightening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he reached the store, he tied Mercury to a bike rack and walked into the store, shoving his hands into his sweatpants pockets as he walked straight to the freezer section. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine gazed upon the multitudes of ice cream flavours and scratched at the stubble collecting on his jawline as he pondered the ultimate decision. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Triple caramel chunk? Or cherry garcia?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blaine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine looked up from the freezer. He could feel his face flush with shame when he saw Elliott standing on the other end of the glass door, a basket hanging from his elbow. He looked just as flawless as he had the night of his and Kurt’s first date. The thought made him swallow thickly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Elliott,” he said quietly. “Hey.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elliott peered at the wall of ice cream Blaine was facing and smiled sympathetically. “How are you doing?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine slowly closed the freezer door. “Good,” he lied. The slow rise of Elliott’s eyebrow told him that he knew Blaine was lying; that plus his disheveled appearance. “I mean… I’m fine. How are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great,” Elliott responded, walking over to Blaine and opening the freezer back up. He stared inside for a moment before pulling out a carton of Ben and Jerry’s cherry garcia. “The band and I have been pretty busy lately recording our first album.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine nodded. “That’s great.” He shuffled in place uncomfortably, unsure. There was only one thing on his mind, though. One </span>
  <em>
    <span>person</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He wasn’t sure if Elliott would be the first to bring it up or if he would have to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elliott answered that concern for him. “I was at Kurt’s place just now,” he said lightly, spinning the ice cream carton around in his hands. “In case you were wondering.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine’s eyes widened and he blushed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I was wondering. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“That’s good,” he said quietly. He could feel his heart begin to pick up speed at the very mention of Kurt. “Um… how’s… how’s he doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The both of them fell silent for a few moments, nothing but dead air and the tinny sound of grocery store music floating between them. Elliott dropped the ice cream into his basket and wiped his hand on his jeans, giving Blaine a placid smile. “Can I be honest, Blaine?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine raised his eyebrows and nodded carefully, steeling himself for a potential verbal smackdown. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not doing great,” Elliott said plainly. He hesitated before he spoke again. “He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine nodded again. He felt vaguely like a bobblehead doll, stuck on the dashboard of a constantly roving car. “I-I know he is,” he said quietly. “I read his text.” He sighed, letting some of the tension leak out of his shoulders as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I just felt so… I </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> so… stupid, like I should’ve known.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elliott didn’t respond; but the look on his face made Blaine want to keep talking for some reason. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe it’s my fault too. I-I knew something was up the minute Marley came up to us, but I just kept prying and digging for answers that I wasn’t even ready for.” Blaine rubbed his eyes tiredly, feeling an aching pressure building up behind them. “Then I just walked away. I-I was so blinded by my own </span>
  <em>
    <span>selfishness</span>
  </em>
  <span> and my own anger that I didn’t even hear anything Kurt was saying to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I get that. You were mad at him for lying to you and to be honest, you had a right to be. Kurt isn’t a perfect person… but I really think you two were good for each other.” Elliott said softly, reaching into his pants pocket for his wallet. “I’m not going to ask you to talk to him. That has to be a decision you come to on your own, but…” He paused as he opened his wallet and pulled out a business card, rubbing his thumb against the edges before handing it to Blaine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine took the card and looked at it, eyes widening when he saw the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Vogue</span>
  </em>
  <span> logo right above Kurt’s name. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Art director. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“He went back to Vogue?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. He was too distracted by the card to see the small smile on Elliott’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the card was Kurt’s email, phone number, and an office address. Blaine gently traced the letters in Kurt’s name with his thumb. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He started his new job this week,” Elliott said quietly. “I think he might appreciate a few words of encouragement.” Blaine didn’t reply. He was too busy staring down at the card in his hand, almost wishing that Kurt would miraculously appear in front of him if he looked hard enough. “I’ll talk to you later, Blaine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, Elliott turned on his heel and walked away. The sound of combat boots against linoleum was the only thing reminding Blaine that Elliott hadn’t been an apparition, a figment of his depressed, ice cream-clouded vision. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stood in the ice cream aisle for Lord knows how long after Elliott left, staring down at the business card as an idea slowly started forming in his head. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>It had officially been a week since the night of the fight. Kurt had refused to refer to it as a break up in his head -- that was too harsh, too final. He didn’t want to admit to himself that his relationship with Blaine was over yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Life continued on as it normally did after horrific, personal losses. Kurt went to work, came home, fed Diva, and lounged on his couch until it was time for bed. It all felt too familiar in the worst way possible. He and Blaine had only been together for a month… but somehow, he’d forgotten what it felt like to be alone; to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>lonely</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He walked into work on Monday morning, his head bowed and pounding from a lack of caffeine and sleep. He smiled politely at Unique, the receptionist, trying to ignore the pressure in his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning, Unique,” he said quietly. Unique looked up and grinned at him excitedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning, Kurt!” she said, leaning toward him on her elbows. “You received a delivery this morning. I put it in your office.” Kurt nodded and was about to walk away when Unique caught his attention one last time. “You are one lucky fella.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt furrowed his eyebrows but didn’t question her, instead shooting her a small wave before continuing on to his office. When he arrived, the first thing he noticed was a glass vase sitting in front of his computer. The vase was filled with yellow roses with red tips, so bright that Kurt had to blink a few times before he could focus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could feel a smile growing on his lips as he examined the flowers, the sweet aroma floating through the air pleasantly. Then, he noticed a card sticking out, behind a small bushel of catmint. He plucked it out carefully and sat down in his desk chair to read it. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Congratulations on your new job. I just know that Vogue is a better place with you in it. I’m glad you found the courage to retrace your steps and do what you love. - B x</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt’s eyes lingered on the ‘x’ mark for longer than necessary. He didn’t have to think too hard to know who the bouquet was from. Blaine’s words circled through his head again and again. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m glad you found the courage to retrace your steps and do what you love.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Love. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt let out a quiet chuckle of disbelief as he set the card down in front of him. He could feel his eyes begin to grow hot as overwhelmed, happy tears threatened to spill. He quickly cleared his throat and set the vase aside, carefully tucking the note into the back of one of the photo frames on his desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared at the flowers for a moment. He could feel a bright feeling in his chest pounding away; something that felt suspiciously like </span>
  <em>
    <span>hope</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Eventually, Kurt turned away from the flowers and turned his computer on before opening his search browser. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hesitated, fingers carefully poised over the keys before he started typing, one letter at a time, slowly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Quinn Fabray.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t difficult to find information about Quinn’s new restaurant. There were a multitude of local, dedicated food blogs in New York City that Kurt knew he could depend on. He found the name and address of the restaurant with minimal effort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt couldn’t hold back his smile as he gazed at Blaine’s flowers once again. He glanced at his watch and sighed, though his smile never faltered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only three hours left until lunchtime. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Working in a new kitchen was always jarring. When Blaine had first started working at </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stella</span>
  </em>
  <span> it had taken him a month and a half to get acquainted to the atmosphere and the layout of his kitchen, but surprisingly, the moment he stepped into the kitchen at Quinn’s new restaurant (affectionately named </span>
  <em>
    <span>Posto Di Beth </span>
  </em>
  <span>after her daughter), he’d felt an overwhelming sense of peace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had taken him almost no time at all to adjust to the new space. He missed his friends and coworkers at </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stella</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but Blaine could slowly feel himself beginning to form tentative friendships with his staff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stood by the window, meticulously polishing and approving each dish that came his way before it went to the runners to be served. A plate of tiramisu was placed in front of him and he smiled thankfully at Tina, his new sous chef. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sprinkled the plate with a light dusting of cocoa powder and wiped a spot of excess cream from the side of the dish, turning it on the table for a quick, final examination before placing it on the counter to be picked up by a waiter. “Pick up, table 16!” As soon as the words left his lips, the plate was grabbed and whisked away. Blaine couldn’t help but smile at the efficiency.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t give the plate a second thought as he started to move around the kitchen, checking on the other stationed chefs and making sure everything was running smoothly. He was looking over Sugar’s shoulder, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Beth’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> appropriately named pastry chef, when he heard Quinn calling him from the kitchen door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine looked up, giving Sugar a smile before walking toward Quinn. “What’s up?” he asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someone outside is asking for you,” she said quietly, glancing out into the front of house for a moment. “Table 16.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine peered outside the kitchen door, but his view of the customer was partially obscured. “Now? But we’re in the middle of the lunch rush…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quinn gave Blaine a smile that he didn’t fully trust. “The customer is King, right?” she said softly. “I’m sure it’ll only take a few minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine pursed his lips. A very specific memory came flooding back all of a sudden, but he pushed it out of his mind with surprising ease. He turned to Tina who was not-so-subtly listening in on their conversation. “Okay, Tina, can you…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got this,” Quinn said, grabbing a spare apron off of the hook next to the door and tying it around her waist. She threw her hair up with effortless ease and gave him a light smile. “Go get him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Him…?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wait…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine watched as Quinn descended into the kitchen and naturally slipped back into her old role. It was mesmerizing to watch, but Blaine tore his eyes away and walked out into the dining room, eyes frantically looking around for something, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>familiar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, he saw it. There, by the window, was a familiar head of chestnut brown hair, perfectly coiffed and styled, leading down to that perfect side profile that Blaine had quickly grown </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>fond of. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Kurt. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine’s feet began moving on their own volition. Kurt’s shoulders looked stiff, as though he could feel Blaine’s eyes on him, but he pushed forward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands were shaking when he finally reached Kurt’s table. Kurt didn’t look up, but Blaine could still see a faint smile on his lips. There was a plate of untouched Tiramisu in front of him; the one Blaine had polished earlier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kurt?” Blaine’s mouth curled around Kurt’s name like he was saying a familiar prayer, relishing in the short, harsh syllable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt finally looked up, and Blaine inhaled shakily. “Hi, Blaine,” he said, gesturing towards the seat across from him. “Do you wanna sit down?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine fell into the chair opposite Kurt, never taking his eyes off of him for a moment. A small, irrational part of his mind was afraid that if he stopped looking, Kurt would disappear, so he didn’t stop looking. “What are you doing here?” he asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… I got your flowers,” Kurt said. The afternoon sun came in through the window, making his already ethereal looking eyes look even </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> enchanting. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine smiled, his heart swelling in his chest. “I’m glad you liked them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt sighed. His gentle smile faltered slightly and he looked at Blaine, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> looked at him. It felt as though he was looking right through Blaine, right into his soul. “Blaine, I’m so, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> sorry,” he said. “When I wrote the review, you were imaginary to me, just a concept of a person that I didn’t care about, but… but then I met you and you brought so much </span>
  <em>
    <span>flavour </span>
  </em>
  <span>and colour to my life that I-I got addicted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine clenched his jaw as the memories came flooding back. There was still that initial sting of humiliation, but it was duller, more muted. He sat there quietly as he continued to listen to Kurt talk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I’m sorry for lying to you, and for making you feel like I wasn’t serious about us because I was serious about us, I-I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> serious about us!” The longer Kurt spoke for, the more red began to appear on his cheeks. Blaine watched him, lips slightly parted as he tried to take in the words he was saying. “You don’t have to forgive me. If I were you, I don’t know if I would, but… I just wanted to make sure you knew that I really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> love…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt cut himself off. Blaine’s breath hitched. He was partially worried that his heart was going to beat straight out of his chest and onto the table. Kurt cleared his throat and smiled bashfully. “Um… I loved spending time with you.” He looked down at the table cloth and fiddled with his fingers. Blaine noticed the way he meticulously straightened each piece of cutlery on his side of the table as he chewed through his words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt looked up then. He didn’t look bashful anymore; he looked completely serene. There was a smile on his face and a look in his eye that made Blaine never want to look away. “I also wanted to say thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine breathed in shakily. “What for?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For teaching me how to let go of my anger and my fear. I hadn’t realised how much I let those feelings dictate me until… until you showed me.” They held eye contact for a moment longer. Despite the quiet sound of customers chatting and metal cutlery scraping against ceramic plates, neither one of them could hear a thing other than the beating of their own hearts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, Blaine stood up quickly and walked to Kurt’s side of the table. He grabbed Kurt’s hand and pulled him up out of his chair, the wooden legs scraping against the floor loudly and alerting the other patrons of their presence. Blaine could feel unfamiliar eyes on the both of them, but in that moment he found that he didn’t care </span>
  <em>
    <span>at all. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t care because Kurt’s hand was in his, soft and warm, and dizzyingly familiar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t care because Kurt was looking at him with the same face Blaine had gotten so used to waking up to most mornings, a look of awe and </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> that Blaine was sure Kurt saw mirrored on his own expression. </span>
</p><p><span>He didn’t care because all he cared</span> <span>about in that moment was </span><em><span>Kurt.</span></em></p><p>
  <span>“I love you.” The words felt natural falling from Blaine’s lips. He’d expected to feel scared or nervous, but he didn’t, how could he when Kurt was beaming at him like that? “I love you, Kurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt grinned, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. “I love you, too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine let out a choked giggle before pulling Kurt in, letting go of his hand in favour of wrapping his arms tightly around Kurt’s back. Their lips met, slotting together </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfectly</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed the flavour of Kurt’s kisses until just then. He felt Kurt wrap his arms around Blaine’s shoulders and pull him impossibly closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He inhaled sharply as they kissed, breathing in Kurt’s cologne and letting it send him into a tailspin. Kurt’s lips tasted like garlic and basil in the most intoxicating way possible. Blaine couldn’t get enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They finally pulled away after a few maddening, vertigo-inducing seconds, completely wrapped up in each other. Blaine’s cheeks were flushed and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> his eyes were dark if Kurt’s own blown pupils were anything to go by. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t until he loosened his grip on Kurt’s waist that he remembered where they were. He chuckled bashfully but </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> didn’t let go of Kurt, instead leaning in and rubbing their noses together. “Do you wanna get out of here?” he asked quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt hummed, pressing one last chaste kiss to Blaine’s lips before pulling away. He lifted a hand and cupped Blaine’s cheek, the tip of his pinkie stroking the soft skin by his ear. “Right now?” he asked. “What about work?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine looked toward the kitchen window where both Quinn and Tina were watching with rapt attention. He laughed and ducked his head before glancing back at Kurt. “I don’t think my boss will mind just this once.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt nodded. “Okay,” he whispered, pleased. “Your place or mine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine shrugged, unable to control the grin that steadily grew on his face. “I don’t care,” he said, “as long as you’re there with me.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <a href="https://cooking.nytimes.com/recipes/1018684-classic-tiramisu">
    <strong>Chapter Recipe: Tiramisu</strong>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <b>For the cream:</b>
</p><ul>
<li><span>4 large egg yolks</span></li>
<li><span>½ cup/100 grams granulated sugar, divided</span></li>
<li><span>¾ cup heavy cream</span></li>
<li><span>1 cup/227 grams mascarpone (8 ounces)</span></li>
</ul><p>
  <b>For the assembly:</b>
</p><ul>
<li><span>1 ¾ cups good espresso or very strong coffee</span></li>
<li><span>2 tablespoons rum or cognac</span></li>
<li><span>2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder</span></li>
<li><span> About 24 ladyfingers (from one 7-ounce/200-gram package)</span></li>
<li><span>1 to 2 ounces bittersweet chocolate, for shaving (optional)</span></li>
</ul><p>
  <span>Using an electric mixer in a medium bowl, whip together egg yolks and 1/4 cup/50 grams sugar until very pale yellow and about tripled in volume. A slight ribbon should fall from the beaters (or whisk attachment) when lifted from the bowl. Transfer mixture to a large bowl, wiping out the medium bowl used to whip the yolks and set aside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the medium bowl, whip cream and remaining 1/4 cup/50 grams sugar until it creates soft-medium peaks. Add mascarpone and continue to whip until it creates a soft, spreadable mixture with medium peaks. Gently fold the mascarpone mixture into the sweetened egg yolks until combined.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Using a sifter, dust the bottom of a 2-quart baking dish (an 8x8-inch dish, or a 9-inch round cake pan would also work here) with 1 tablespoon cocoa powder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Combine espresso and rum in a shallow bowl and set aside. Working one at a time, quickly dip each ladyfinger into the espresso mixture -- they are quite porous and will fall apart if left in the liquid too long -- and place them rounded side up at the bottom of the baking dish. Repeat, using half the ladyfingers, until you’ve got an even layer, breaking the ladyfingers in half as needed to fill in any obvious gaps (a little space in between is O.K.). Spread half the mascarpone mixture onto the ladyfingers in one even layer. Repeat with remaining espresso-dipped ladyfingers and mascarpone mixture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dust top layer with remaining tablespoon of cocoa powder. Top with shaved or finely grated chocolate, if desired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cover with plastic wrap and let chill in the refrigerator for at least 4 hours (if you can wait 24 hours, all the better) before slicing or scooping to serve.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Kurt's Dessert</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>&lt;3 enjoy the epilogue everyone!</p><p>also tomorrow is my birthday so &lt;3 if anyone would like to drop a lil comment as a birthday gift that would be a BIG OL HEART EMOJI</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“So, Christmas dinner.” Blaine said as he stepped out of the bathroom. The steam from the shower curled around the air as it slowly began to dissipate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt looked up from his book and smirked at the sight of Blaine, freshly clean and shirtless, lightly damp. He looked delicious. “Mhmm,” he hummed. “What about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the fact that they’d been living together for a year, Kurt still couldn’t believe how lucky he was. Whenever he kissed Blaine goodnight or woke up to Blaine curled tightly under his arm, he had to stop and take a moment to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>smile</span>
  </em>
  <span> and drink him in completely. They’d chosen to move in together six months after getting back together. It had been fast, but it was by far one of the easiest decisions Kurt had ever made. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just…” Blaine bit his lip, twisting his damp towel around in his hands. “I haven’t done the whole ‘Christmas with the family’ thing in a long, </span>
  <em>
    <span>long</span>
  </em>
  <span> time. Usually it’s just me; sometimes Wes and David. If my brother’s in town, we have dinner, but he rarely is, so…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt put his book down and got up off the bed, walking towards Blaine. He wrapped his arms solidly around his waist and pulled him close. “Are you nervous about meeting my family?” he asked, tilting his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine nodded minutely. Kurt chuckled, resting their foreheads together. His laughter made Blaine whine quietly. “I’ve seen pictures of your Dad, Kurt,” he said indignantly. “He could squash me like a </span>
  <em>
    <span>grape</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt rolled his eyes. “My Dad is harmless,” he said, bringing a hand up to stroke Blaine’s cheek. “He will love you because </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>love you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine melted and sighed, wrapping his arms around Kurt’s neck. “You always know how to make me feel better,” he said quietly, leaning in and pecking Kurt’s lips. “I love you, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stood there for a moment in the middle of their bedroom, gently swaying side to side as they kissed. Slowly, gradually, their kisses grew more and more heated as their hands became restless. Blaine pulled away first, pressing a few more chaste kisses to Kurt’s lips before smirking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go to bed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you’d never ask.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Blaine had a plan. A plan shaped like a small, red, velvet box from </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tiffany</span>
  </em>
  <span>’s, hiding behind his recipe books. He’d been planning this for the past month and a half, but as the weeks narrowed down into days, he could only feel his nerves growing more and more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If all went well, Kurt and Blaine would be engaged in a matter of days. He’d been planning this since Kurt told him his family was coming to town for Christmas, already mapping out a speech for when he asked Burt for his approval. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was extremely nervous; but it was the kind of nervous that you got right before jumping off the diving board at the pool. That exhilarating, heart-pounding sense of excitement and fear that you couldn’t really get enough of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Hummel-Hudson’s had landed in New York an hour ago, and so far things seemed to be going well. Meeting Burt, Carole, and Finn had gone off without a hitch despite Blaine’s nervousness. They’d greeted him with firm handshakes (Burt) and warm hugs (Carole) that left a quiet part of Blaine yearning for parental affection -- he couldn’t remember the last time he’d hugged his own mother so tightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the initial meeting, Kurt had wrapped his arms around Blaine’s waist from behind and smirked, nuzzling the space under his ear and whispering: “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Told you they’d love you.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He’d leaned backwards into the embrace and placed his hands on top of Kurt’s, his thumb quickly swiping over the top of his left ring finger before he pulled away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were at Kurt and his apartment now, sitting around the dining table together, laughing and chatting over warm mugs of homemade apple cider and gingerbread cookies Blaine had painstakingly spent hours icing the night before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Blaine,” Carole said, wrapping her hands around her mug. “How’s work? Kurt told us you’re a chef.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s an </span>
  <em>
    <span>excellent</span>
  </em>
  <span> chef,” Kurt said, butting in before Blaine could answer the question for himself. Blaine laughed, ducking his head bashfully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… work is alright,” he said, smiling towards Carole. “I work at a trattoria in Manhattan, not too far from here.” He checked his watch and winced. “Speaking of work, I should probably go get ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Burt stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Mind showing me where the bathroom is before you go, Blaine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine looked at Burt, eyes widening. He could feel his heart begin to race. However, he didn’t let that discourage him. He simply smiled and gestured towards the hallway. “Yeah, it’s down the hall to the left. I’ll show you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they reached the hallway, Blaine stopped walking, feeling Burt’s curious eyes on the back of his head. He placed his hand on the bathroom door before turning around, smiling at Burt sheepishly. “I was actually wondering if I could talk to you about something really quick, Mr. Hummel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Burt raised his eyebrows, eyes darting between Blaine and the bathroom door. “Right now?” he asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” Blaine stepped aside, gesturing towards the bathroom and smiling sheepishly. “I-I guess it can wait.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Burt chuckled and walked into the bathroom, closing the door tight behind him. A few moments later as he came out, he saw Blaine still standing on the other side of the door, hands nervously clasped behind his back. “Can I help you, kid?” he asked, leaning against the door jamb with a light smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine bounced a few times on his toes, looking down the hall before quietly ushering Burt towards his and Kurt’s shared office. Well… they said it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>shared</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but Blaine hardly used it. He walked over to his side of the office and pulled a few recipe books out before reaching behind them and pulling out a small, velvet box. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All the while, he could feel Burt’s eyes dutifully tracking his every move. He could feel nervous sweat begin to gather on the back of his neck. With one hand firmly clasped around the box, he turned around and faced Burt, giving him a small smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you wanna talk to me about?” Burt asked, though the look on his face told Blaine he already knew. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um… Mr. Hummel--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“--Burt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine looked up, a surprised grin growing on his face. Burt was smiling at him, too. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A promising sign. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Okay, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Burt,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he said, trying to stop himself from bouncing excitedly on his toes. “The past year and a half that I’ve spent with your son has been </span>
  <em>
    <span>incredible</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He-he’s taught me things about life and even about myself that I never would’ve considered.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kurt tends to do that,” Burt said quietly. Blaine nodded.</span>
  <span>“I love him so, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> much,” Blaine breathed, looking down at the box in his hands. He took a shaky breath before opening it, revealing the ring inside. It was a simple, titanium band with a single diamond inlaid in the centre. “I wanted to ask you for your--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“--No.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine’s heart sank as he snapped the box shut. “Wh-what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Burt chuckled and shook his head, reaching over to give Blaine a gentle pat on the shoulder. “If you’re asking me for </span>
  <em>
    <span>permission</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the answer is ‘no’. Kurt has never needed my permission to do anything.” He paused then, glancing down at the box in Blaine’s hands before looking back up at him. “But, if you’re asking for my approval, then… of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine processed each word as it came, his spirits slowly lifting. He couldn’t help himself. He launched himself into Burt’s arms, giving him a tight hug and patting his back firmly. Burt responded with a surprised grunt and a chuckle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, sir!” he said before pulling away. He looked back down at the ring box and turned it over in his hand, unable to keep the smile off of his face. “I actually have a plan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah?” Burt asked. Blaine nodded, trying as hard as he could to tamp down his smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he said, slipping the ring in his pocket. “I have to go get ready for work, but can you convince Kurt to bring you to my restaurant tonight for dinner? At 7?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Burt smiled, patting Blaine lightly on the arm once again. “You got it.” He paused and sighed quietly as he stepped away. “I’m really happy that you two found each other, Blaine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine’s smile softened. His hand brushed over the square box in his pocket and he couldn’t help the way his heart lurched. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “So am I.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“I’m surprised you wanted to come here, Dad,” Kurt said, smiling politely at the hostess as they walked into </span>
  <em>
    <span>Beth</span>
  </em>
  <span>’s. “I know you’re usually a burgers and fries man. I was gonna take you guys to a place with bottomless mashed potatoes and ribs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A look of longing crossed over Burt’s face at the mention of ribs. It made Kurt chuckle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I wanted to support your boyfriend,” Burt said instead, fiddling with the one of the buttons on the shirt Carole had forced him to wear. “If he’s as good a chef as you say he is, I doubt I’ll even </span>
  <em>
    <span>miss</span>
  </em>
  <span> the ribs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were led to a quiet, secluded table near the kitchen where Kurt could spot the very top of Blaine’s head through the glass window. He smiled. Whenever he visited Blaine at work, Kurt always requested a table near the back where he could see into the kitchen. There was something he loved about watching Blaine completely in his element.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The waitress handed them their menus and Kurt thanked her with a soft smile. He looked up and smirked when he saw Finn’s eyebrows, furrowed in confusion as he looked over the menu. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t I order for us?” Kurt asked. “I know what you all like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s tripe?” Finn asked, squinting down at the menu. Kurt looked at him incredulously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stomach, Finn. It’s cow stomach.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn paled at the very thought and put his menu down. “Okay,” he said, “you can order for me, but… no stomachs.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And if it’s alright with you,” Burt said, a smile on his face that Kurt couldn’t decipher, “can I be in charge of ordering dessert?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt rolled his eyes before putting his own menu down and flagging over the waitress. When he finished ordering for all of them, he looked back into the kitchen, smiling when he saw Blaine leaning over a plate of tiramisu, wiping at the sides of the plate meticulously with a tea towel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost as if he felt Kurt’s gaze, Blaine looked up. The moment they made eye contact, Kurt saw a bright grin grow on Blaine’s face and he couldn’t help but return it. Blaine waved at him and blew him a kiss before looking back down at his work, picking the plate up and placing it on the cart to be served. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt’s chest grew warm. He had it all. He had the perfect guy, a wonderful family, an amazing job… he didn’t think life could possibly get any better.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Burt sat back in his chair and covered his mouth with his fist as he tried hard not to belch. Kurt huffed and sat back as well, fiddling with the corner of the napkin on his lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was delicious,” Carole said, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “You were right about Blaine, Kurt, he’s an excellent cook!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt beamed with pride. “I know, right!” He looked over at Finn who was chasing the last dredges of sauce around his plate with his fork, trying to get as much as he could before shovelling the fork into his mouth. “Are you enjoying yourself, Finn?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn nodded, holding the fork in his mouth in a way that was so childlike that Kurt could hardly believe that he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>30.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “That was great, dude,” he said through the prongs. “Even the little carrot things were good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt gave him an exasperated smile. “That wasn’t carrot, Finn, it was parsnip,” he said, folding his napkin up and placing it on his empty plate. “But I’m glad you enjoyed it anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked towards his dad who was twisted in his seat, looking behind him and into the kitchen. Kurt looked too, raising an eyebrow when he saw Blaine was no longer at his position. “What are you looking at, dad?” he asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Burt whipped around and gave Kurt another one of his secret smiles. “Just the waiter. I told you I wanted to be in charge of dessert, remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt nodded but narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He looked over at Carole who was looking down at her cutlery, hands clasped and fiddling with her wedding ring. Even Finn was avoiding his gaze. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What on earth…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dessert menu?” A familiar voice from behind him asked. Kurt furrowed his eyebrows and turned around, seeing Elliott standing behind him. He was dressed in a waiter’s uniform, holding a leather-bound dessert menu towards Kurt. He was smiling widely at him in a way that Kurt wasn’t sure he could trust. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Elliott?” Kurt asked, taking the menu from him despite his apprehension. “What are you doing here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elliott didn’t respond; he merely winked and walked off. Kurt watched as he rounded the corner towards where the entrance to the kitchen was, entirely flabbergasted. He looked around the table at his family who were all staring at him, strange looks on their faces. “Why are you all looking at me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Burt smiled. “We just really love ya’, kid,” he said softly. “Why don’t you go ahead and read the dessert menu?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt could feel his heart beating a mile a minute in his chest as he opened the menu. All the sounds in the restaurant seemed to dim to a low hum as he read it. There was only one thing listed.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Kurt’s Dessert. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Chocolate and espresso tartufo; sweet maraschino cherries encased in chocolate and coffee ice cream with a cantucci biscuit-base, covered in silky white chocolate. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A delicious surprise in every bite.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt grinned when he read the description. He could feel warmth start to rise on his cheeks; and it wasn’t from the candle sitting in the centre of the table. “Aw, that’s so sweet,” he cooed softly, turning the menu around to show Finn, Carole, and Burt. “Blaine named a dessert after me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Burt grinned, reaching over and resting a hand on top of Kurt’s. “Why don’t we order one for the table?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just one?” Kurt asked, raising his eyebrows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Burt nodded and turned, waving over another waiter. It wasn’t Elliott this time; </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> time it was Wes who walked over, a wild grin on his face that he was unable to conceal. Kurt watched, mouth agape. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wes?” he asked. “Why are you… what’s going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wes looked at Kurt but said nothing as he took the dessert menu from him. “Any room for dessert?” he asked. He looked so ecstatic that Kurt thought he would begin </span>
  <em>
    <span>vibrating </span>
  </em>
  <span>with excitement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Burt said, smiling at Wes. “Just one of the uh… the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kurt</span>
  </em>
  <span>s, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wes and Burt shared a look; something that perplexed Kurt to no end, before Wes walked off and rounded the same corner that Elliott had. Kurt laughed; more out of disbelief than humour. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> tell me what’s happening?” he asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before his question was answered, Kurt saw Blaine rounding the corner, a plate in his hand. He wasn’t in his chef’s jacket; he’d changed into a blazer and a button-up shirt which Kurt would’ve vastly appreciated if he hadn’t been so confused. There was a soft smile on his face, offset by the way his eyes were sparkling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt wondered what hyperventilating felt like as he watched Blaine approach the table, plate in hand. “Blaine?” he asked quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine finally reached the table and cleared his throat. “Did you guys order dessert?” There was a shaky quality to Blaine’s voice that made Kurt’s heart race faster. His hands were shaking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked just behind Blaine and saw Elliott and Wes standing behind him, twin grins on their faces. He looked back at Blaine who’d set the plate in front of him. On the plate was a small, round dessert, covered in a thin layer of white chocolate. It looked delicious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt looked at Blaine with a breathless laugh, head shaking in confusion. “I… what’s going on?” he asked quietly, though he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Blaine chuckled; that squeaky, bouncy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>beautiful </span>
  </em>
  <span>sound that Kurt could never get enough of. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um… Kurt,” Blaine said quietly. He cleared his throat and looked at Kurt, reaching over and gently taking his hand. “To call our life together a dream come true would be… an insult to the world we’ve created together because what we have is real. The reality I get to spend with you everyday is so much better than any dream I could ever have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt choked out a teary chuckle as he squeezed Blaine’s hand. “Me too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine grinned, nodding vigorously. “Good! Good,” he said. He paused for a moment before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a box. The moment the small, velvet box came into view, Kurt inhaled shakily. “Kurt,” Blaine continued, “there is nothing more I wanna do than spend my life loving you. So…” he slowly lowered himself to one knee, staring up at Kurt with those bright hazel eyes that were glistening so </span>
  <em>
    <span>beautifully </span>
  </em>
  <span>under the dimmed candle light. Kurt knew that they had an audience; could feel a multitude of eyes watching him as he stared at the ring. “Will you marry me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But none of those eyes mattered. All he could feel, all he could </span>
  <em>
    <span>see</span>
  </em>
  <span> was Blaine, kneeling in front of him, holding everything he’d ever wanted in a small 1x1 inch box. He nodded before the word actually came out of his mouth. His voice got caught in his throat as he felt tears gathering in the corner of his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” His voice was choked and watery, his cheeks were probably flushed bright pink, but Kurt didn’t care; because Blaine was slipping his engagement (</span>
  <em>
    <span>engagement!!!) </span>
  </em>
  <span>ring onto his finger and scooping him up into his arms. Kurt wrapped his arms tightly around Blaine’s back and crashed their lips together, unable to stop himself from pressing his fingers together, feeling the cool metal against his skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They pulled away to quiet applause and they both laughed, holding onto each other so tight that you couldn’t tell where Kurt stopped and Blaine began. Blaine rested his forehead against Kurt’s and kissed him chastely. He was so close, Kurt could feel Blaine’s tears against his own face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” Blaine said shakily, pulling away and wiping at his face with his hand. “I can’t wait to marry you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt grinned at him and leaned in close, kissing him again once more. It was short, but nonetheless filled with passion. “I can’t wait to marry you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They turned back to the table and Kurt wiped his tears hastily as his family pulled both him and Blaine into a tight hug. Kurt buried his nose into his father’s shoulder and let out a teary laugh as he breathed in the familiar scent of motor oil and drugstore cologne.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m proud of you, kid,” Burt mumbled into Kurt’s hair. His words were accompanied by an extra tight squeeze which Kurt returned wholeheartedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all sat back down and brandished dessert spoons as they began to take apart the dessert Blaine had made for Kurt. Blaine scooped a small amount of chocolate and ice cream onto his spoon and turned to Kurt, offering it to him. Kurt rolled his eyes but opened his mouth regardless, unable to keep the affectionate smile from creeping onto his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wrapped his lips around the spoon and hummed quietly as the flavours of chocolate, espresso, and the slight tinge of cherry hit him all at once. The gentle crunch from the cantucci biscuits was a stark contrast from the soft, silky feel of the ice cream; but it was incredibly welcome. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt opened his eyes and smiled, licking the sticky ice cream from his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How is it?” Blaine asked. He looked more nervous than he had when he’d actually been proposing. Kurt couldn’t help but chuckle, raising his hand to cup Blaine’s cheek. His fingers bracketed Blaine’s ear, just barely grazing the edges of his hairline. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Kurt said, leaning in and giving him another gentle kiss. “I can’t wait to eat your cooking for the rest of my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine grinned. “So, that’s why you’re marrying me?” he asked. “For my cooking?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt hummed playfully, licking white chocolate off of his spoon. “Among other things.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They laughed, heads bowed and sharing smiles only they understood. As Kurt caught a glimpse of his ring shining under the dim, restaurant lights, he thought to himself… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dessert had never tasted </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite</span>
  </em>
  <span> so sweet before.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <b>Chapter Recipe: Kurt’s Dessert</b>
</p><ul>
<li><span>½ cup chocolate ice cream</span></li>
<li><span>½ cup coffee ice cream</span></li>
<li><span>Maraschino cherries</span></li>
<li>
<span>Cantucci biscuits (Italian almond cookies) finely ground or crushed</span><span><br/></span><span>- Or alternate biscuit of your choosing!</span>
</li>
<li><span>2 ½ tbsp of coconut oil, melted</span></li>
<li><span>2 ounces of white chocolate, chopped</span></li>
</ul><p>
  <span>Line a small bowl with plastic wrap, leaving roughly 3 inches of overhang along the sides. Carefully spread both ice cream flavours along the sides of the bowl, leaving a small well in the centre to put your cherries. Leave to freeze until firm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crush your cantucci biscuits until fine. Once firm, unwrap your ice cream and transfer it, flat-side down, onto a plate and sprinkle the biscuit crumbs over the top, covering all sides of the dome. Place back in freezer to rest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a heat-proof bowl, pour your chopped white chocolate and coconut oil and place the bowl over a pan of boiling water. Be careful that no water gets into the bowl with your chocolate. Gently stir the chocolate and oil until it’s smooth and melted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Place your domed ice cream onto a wire wrack with a tray or plate underneath and pour over your melted chocolate before placing the tartufo back into the freezer until the chocolate has hardened (roughly 5 minutes). Serve immediately or wrap loosely in plastic wrap and freeze for up to a week. Enjoy with someone you love &lt;3</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>and that's the end!!</p><p>thank you so so SO much to everyone who's followed along and read this story with me, the response i've received has been utterly unreal. reading everyone's thoughts and comments always makes me incredibly happy and i'm so SO grateful for everyone who's given the fic a chance!!</p><p>another big ol thank you and ily to my beta Nery and my MIXED RACE TWIN Aly for being SO SUPPORTIVE AND WONDERFUL throughout the entire writing process and to everyone who read and left a comment or a kudos!!! y'all have made my month! i have more fics comin in the near-ish future so follow me on tumblr @byebyeblainey if y'all wanna know more about that hehe</p><p>comments and kudos are always appreciated!!<br/>- Brit xx</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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